


The Wise Ones

by xXRCSovaXx



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Annabeth is a superhero, Children of Athena, Court of Owls, Death Threats, Family Feels, Im pretty sure she would kill you, Shes also batman's sister, Shes very scary, Wise Ones, Yeah also percy dies in this so if you were looking for a love story bye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXRCSovaXx/pseuds/xXRCSovaXx
Summary: "No, you want to know what I am doing here. So casually displaying my whims to you, playing my cards in an illusion so it may seem like a magic trick." She stepped closer to his form allowing him to see her eyes that were lined with red. "But you were never that difficult to understand B, neither am I.""Then tell me, who are we?" He questioned in the same indifferent tone."I'm a daughter of logic, who thrives in danger and holds herself in a false light." She began, poking his chest. "You're a rich kid with issues, that can never stop trying to solve the puzzle. Even when there was never any pieces."When she looked back up into his the white slits, it seemed like he was staring through her. She pursed her lips."And most of all?" She found herself continuing. "Despite what we can do and what we've done. You and me are both human.""Half human." Was all he said after a moment of silence





	1. A Beautiful Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Was on wattpad, like all else. Now to be spiraling down the rabbit hole. God I'm a nerd. Later losers.

* * *

All people could say was he was a hero.

They burned his body in a sea green fire as they chanted on about how he won their wars and fought bravely. About how he was one of the most powerful demigod, fought Titans and giants in the name of Olympus. How he kept a sense of purpose through four years of purposeless fighting. They went on about how even after the wars, the fighting, the endless cycle of death a vengeance, he still lived his life as if fate had no control over him.

They all mourned the fallen hero, the savior of Olympus, the man who turned down immortality for love. Then there was a young woman of 23 in the crowd, she was mourning for her fiance.

Everyone thought they knew the hero, the son of Poseidon, but what did they know? Did they know of the guilt that crushed down on his shoulders every time one of his friends were taken away from him to soon? Did they know of the regrets he had of every decision, every quest, every lie and truth told? Did they know of the constant nightmares, almost every night that haunted him? Did they know he woke up screaming, his memories playing over and over, trying to catch up to him?

They would say that every demigod had nightmares, regrets, guilt, but when did they hold the world on there shoulders? When did they stare down some of the worst monsters, immortal beings and inner demons with an inner defiance that couldn't be tamed?

The woman collapsed to the ground with horrible sobs racking through her. She knew him, she knew the weight he held, the weight they held together. She loved him with all her heart and mind, hopelessly devoted to the dope. He was her tree that grounded her, cushioned her every time she fell. He carried her through hell and fought by her side the entire way.

As the green flames burned his corpse covered in a deep blue Poseidon banner all she could do was sob. She felt unstable, unbalanced, she lost her center, her core. She was falling, spiraling out of control, but no one was there to catch her, cushion her landing. She was alone

She felt hug her around the shoulders and whisper 'it's OK' in her ear but it only made her cries of agony more thunderous. It wasn't ok, nothing was ok, it wouldn't ever be ok. Everything was spiraling out of control, they had no control over fate, and her fiance was foolish to think so. He had such blind faith that he could change things, he could save everything and everyone, that he forgot he didn't change a thing, the fates wove their future before they did.

The young hero thought they could have a happy ending, they would live in peace, but it was never up to them. The fates had screwed them over once again, why was fate so cruel?

The seas were chaotic and explosive, crashing ships against rocks and forming violent hurricanes in mourn for a loving son.

The sky's were overcast, threatening to break over and pour it's contents on to New York in grief of a defiant hero, and a strong nephew.

Shadows seemed to scream out and loom over even the brightest of places, making everything dull and dark as a new soul joined Elysium.

Next to the young woman stood an older woman who seemed to wear a strong expression, but it didn't fool anyone, her eyes were too broken. I mean what mom would think her son would die before her?

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, they were supposed to live the rest of lives and die as old people. The new college graduates had their whole life ahead of them, now it was cut short by unfair circumstances. Ha, fair, nothing was ever fair. Of life was fair would she be there suffocating on her own sobs, struggling to take a breath?

She couldn't breath, everyone was so close, she gasped trying to catch a breath between each sob. She wanted to curl up on herself and cry herself to sleep. She felt so weak breaking down in front of everyone, but she didn't really care, all she could think about was his smile.

Her fiance had a mischievous grin that pulled you in deep, by the time she looked at him, really looked, she couldn't get away if she tried. All she wanted to do was forget her pain, forget his windswept raven black hair and the strike to her heart the memory caused, but she never wanted to forget. She didn't want to forget their love, their bond, they had gone through the worst and came out damaged, but they were damaged together.

She opened her eyes and stared at her ring, tears streaming freely down her face. It was beautiful, a lateral work of the gods. The base was imperial gold mixed with swirls of celestial bronze and Olympic silver, so it was a mash of shinning colors. There was two diamonds sitting on top of Imperial gold prongs, one sea green and one a deep grey, almost back. These were surrounded by clear white gems in a figure 8 to represent infinity, forever. It wasn't forever, it was two months.

It was a bit cliché, if you think about it, an infinite love cut short, the next Romeo and Juliet. Only in this story Juliet promised Romeo that she wouldn't come to soon. She was damned to the rest of her life in sorrow, waiting for the next life to come. She also promised that she would move on, how on Gaea was she supposed to do that? Just move on and forget him, she just couldn't do that, she would rather die cold and alone than betray his memory.

It was a beautiful tragedy, written by the fates. Her life a story for everyone to read, picking at every detail and every line finding what the moral was and what it was that made her tick. This was a beautiful tragedy, a tale told by her friends and family as they watched her fall, all they did was watch.

They watched as she sobbed, heart wrenching cries, they tried to help, comfort her but it was no good, everywhere she went she saw him. She wished she would forget but she never wanted to forget.

Soon after the ceremony, everyone started to file out, many gave there condolences, some didn't even know him, just knew his story. Even when they told there condolences, it didn't really help, her gaze held so much pain, simple words of grief would not help. After a while she was the only one there, sitting curled up on the ground in the middle of the camps graveyard, still weeping for her lost love.

Even in an empty grave yard everything was crowded, to familiar, she couldn't stay here. Every turn she took made her think of the hero and the moments that they shared. Camp was home, but she needed to start somewhere new. Inside the protections walls she was suffocating, trying to breath air that was stale and left a bad taste in her mouth. She stay, she had to leave, leave camp, leave this graveyard.

"I love you Seaweed Brain." She croaked out in despair, her curly blond hair blowing freely in the brisk wind. The young woman walked up to the tombstone monument with no energy, she didn't have any energy left. Stopping in front of it and dropping down to her knees she traced the name written out in bold lettering. 'PERCY JACKSON'.

One final tear slipped down her face before she wiped it furiously with the sleeves of her black dress. She stood up slowly and made her way out of the graveyard. Exiting camp, the blond hid her face as several people gave her pitying, she didn't need any pity, it would fix anything.

She pulled out of the camps parkway in a silver Lamborghini, speeding away from half blood hill without a destination on mind. Everyone would most likely look for her, but she didn't care, she wasn't going back to that place.

She used to not like cars, they were too much technology, it would attract too many monsters. Now she thought of cars as a sense of freedom, driving, even if she doesn't  know where shes going, she feels a rush that distracts her, she really needed a distraction.

She went down several farm roads, going as fast as possible for what seemed like hours weaving in and out of cities and the countryside. Her mind was slowed and her heartbeat was calm as she sped past streetlights. That was until she saw the sign, 'Now Entering Gotham', her heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched, she was thorough distracted.

\---FLASHBACK---

_A eight year old girl had tears in her eyes as she saw her brother packing his camp clothes into a large suitcase. She didn't understand why_ _he_ _was leaving, only that her favorite person at camp was going to be gone, and he wasn't coming back._

_"What do you mean your not coming back to camp?" The young girls voice quivered slightly and she looked up at her brother with owl eyes. Her brother dropped down to her level and pulled her into a hug,_ _kidding_ _the top of her head._

_"Anny..._ _I'm_ _18 now,_ _I_ _have to go to collage, you know_ _I've_ _always_ _wanted_ _to design things." The young child nodded but still didn't_ _really_ _understand why he did not want to visit her._ _Wouldn't_ _he miss them? His family?_

_"But why_ _can't_ _you come back to camp?"_ _She_ _asked again, she loved her brother, she didn't want to lose him._

_"Look it's complicated,_ _let's_ _just say_ _I'm_ _not really wanted here anymore." She_ _hugged_ _him tighter as he started to release her and he let her hang on for a moment longer before standing up. He sipped up his suitcase and drug_ _it_ _around to where he stood in front of his still hopeful little sister._

" _Bruce promise me that this isn't goodbye forever."_ The words _came_ _out as more of a whimper. "I_ _don't_ _want to lose you forever,_ _I_ _already lost Thalia_ _Luke_ _is not the same as he was, your the only one who_ _cares_ _about me here." Her brother dropped down and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder._

 _"That's not true,_ _I_ _can't_ _promise anything but_ _I_ _hope this is not goodbye forever, If it is i'm sorry." The older child of Athena dropped his head down and sighed." Anny,_ _I'm_ _not the only one who cares about you at camp,_ _Luke_ _cares alot,_ _so_ _does_ _everyone in the Athena cabin. You just have to make knew friends._ _You'll_ _forget about me in no time." The_ _young_ _child shook her head defiantly._

 _"Why would_ _I_ _want to forget you? Your everything to me." Bruce thought for a moment before pulling out a slip of paper. She eyed confused,_ _I_ t _stated_ _and_ _bunch of random names and numbers._  
_"What is this?"_

_"My address,_ _maybe when your_ _older_ _you can visit. I_ _don't_ _want this to be goodbye either, I love you_ _Annie." The_ _younger_ _girl_ _crushed_ _her brother into a hug and he chuckled. He stood up once more and made his way to the door, but not before turning back_ _and_ _saying one last thing._

_"Remember what defines us is_ _how_ _well we_ _rise_ _after falling." With that the_ _young_ _man walked out the door, leaving his still hopeful eight year old sister in tears._

_"_ _Don't_ _you forget about_ _me_ either  _Bruce_."

 _\---_ FLASHBACK OVER---

She blinked away the tears that had formed in my eyes, how could she forget him. She might have been in the midst of wars and had prophecies, but that was now excuse, they had been at peace for five years.

She remembered memorizing the address to where it was burned into the back of her mind, 1007 mountain drive, Gotham, New Jersey.

Without hesitation she slammed her foot onto the gas petal and zoomed off towards the manor. She was shaking in anticipation and fear, how was she going to greet him? Oh I know we haven't spoken in 15 years but we can talk now. She wiped my eyes with my sleeves, still in the black dress she wore the day before.

She arrived at the manor around 7 at night, staring up at the gorgeous piece of architecture. It was like an 18th century architecture design, like a castle mixed with a neoclassical support system. Not bad Bruce, not bad at all.

She got out of her Lamborghini and leaned against the side for a while trying to decide what to do. What if this was all a mistake? What if he won't want to see her?

Finally she said screw it and started walking towards the door. She hesitated, but finally got the courage and the doorbell rang out through the home.

Oh what a beautiful tragedy.

What will rise from the ashes?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. A Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is slow, but not really cause that's how I work. Life has to build in suspence before it's can run with the wind. 
> 
> Enjoy.

It is said that the bad things that happen in our lives put us directly on the path to the best things that will ever happen.

It's said that time doesn't heal anything, it just teaches us to live with the pain.

It's said that crying isn't a weakness, it's a sign of having tried too hard for too long.

Are these words wisdom? Are are these keen phrases just something that keep them distracted from actually thinking about their pain?

Some people say that grief is like and ocean, it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.

She used to take these words of periodical wisdom to heart. These sayings and quotes are what she would use to define what she was feeling, to know that other people knew what she was going through.

It is said that the problem is not finding someone who listens, it's finding someone who understands.

All the cuts were fresh, they hadn't  stopped bleeding. Her wounds stung but it felt more like everything was numb. She still felt the pain, but everything had shifted, it's like when she was in love everything was... warm. She would get that feeling in her chest every time they touched, a warmth blooming inside her as if she had drank a warm beverage after sitting outside in the cold. Now that he was gone, nothing made her feel it, everything seemed dull. Everything was cold.

In statistics, 7.347% of woman under 30 are widowed. The odds were in her favor, but then that's before you factor in being a demigod. 48.9325% of demigods who come to camp die before 30, 69.7% being males. Then you factor in how many demigods actually get married, which was 74.54%. 25.42257699% she still had 74.57742301% of a chance.

She used to love facts, statistics, they were always right. People lie and they can twist actions and feelings to their will, facts can't lie. Now she sees that facts can be twisted as well, they can't be as misleading as people. It was a fact that he was the best swordsman in 300 years. It was a fact that he had defeated hundreds of monsters, won 2 wars, fought in over 10 major battles and trained for over 10 years. The facts are that even if he had a higher chance of dying because he was a child of Poseidon, his skill canceled it out and then some.

The facts were that he had 3.65% chance of dying in the home invasion. It was so ironic it almost made her break out laughing hysterically. After fighting in 2 wars and battling hundreds of monsters, he died from some crook with a gun.

It is said that with life comes danger and with danger comes a chance of ending it.

It's said that life is ironic. It takes sadness to know what happiness is, noise to appreciate the silence and someone's absence to value their presence.

She used to love facts, statistics, she still liked them, used them to find the truth, but now she knows that you should never rely on them.

It was a fact that she missed Bruce, she never let him out of her mind till.. he came along. She used to think about him every night, she remembered that when she couldn't sleep from the nightmares, he would tell her stories. He was her idol, he told her about what happened to his family and how he was going to track down the person who killed his parents and get his revenge. She told him about how her family didn't want her anymore and all she had left was Luke. She made a new brother that night. Not just because he was a child of Athena, it was because he cared.

Maybe he still cared.

Would he even remember her?

It's said that the people who told you that they would be there for you are the ones to walk away first.

Bruce never promised though, he never promised anything he never know if he could keep. Out of 2 years of being with him I only heard him promise one thing, that he would try. The only thing he ever promised is that he would try, try to keep his unspoken promises, for those who cared.

So now she's waiting, waiting at the beautiful arched white doors in front of her brothers manor. The cold edged at her skin but she didn't care, all she could think about was an unspoken promise. A promise to not forget about each other, a promise to see each other again. All she wished for was that he kept this one promise, this one unspoken promise.

After a moment of silence the white maple doors creaked open slowly, making the warmth from inside radiate to her form under the granite archway. She was soon bathed in a warm light that had a stark contrast to darkness, making everything thing it touched almost glow.

In the doorway stood an elderly man in a black suit and full white greased back hair. His posture was ridged and alert as if he was going to be attacked any moment, but his eyes held no fear, not much emotion except a tinge of curiosity. He took in her appearance as she took in his, him probably noticing her wild blond hair, red puffy eyes and tears stained sleeves.

"Can I help you miss?" The man asked in a polite british accent. His eyes were calculating, yet welcoming, they held a kind of intelligence and wisdom. She guessed based off the straightened back and level of intellect the man had he must have worked in an intelligence agency, most likely MI6 based off the accent.

She rapped her arms around herself nervously, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sleeves. This man must have been the butler that Bruce had told her about, but she had no way of knowing if he even lived here anymore, we'll not at the moment.

"Does Bruce Wayne still live here?" She questioned quietly, her voice hoarse from lack of speaking. The elderly man nodded and gave her a quizzical look.

She knew that this wasn't a good idea, her stomach twisted in nerves. She bit her lip nervously and closed her eyes trying to block out the quezey feel in the pit of her abdomen. She needed to do this, but she didn't know if she could take it if he didn't remember her.

It's said that being nervous isn't bad, it just means something really important is about to happen.

It's said that if you don't try you have no opportunity to succeed.

"M-maybe this isn't a good time..." She trailed off and trained her gaze to the floor. She should have rethought this, showing up out of the blue, at night, in the cold. She must have looked a little pathetic, she was falling apart. Is that what she was doing? Looking for someone to cushion her fall?

Was this why she wanted to see him, to find someone from her past so she could run from her pain? To find someone to help her, to carrier her through the pain? She was carried for so long, she could stand on her own. She was a child of Athena, she didn't need a support system, she didn't need anyone. Did she?

It's said that people who rely on others are wiser, they can admit that they need help.

She was falling.

Falling.

Would the brother that she once held catch her?

It's said that you don't heal alone, but only around those who are willing to treat your wounds.

"I'm -, " She was cut of as she began to apologize as the man shifted out of the doorway and gestured inside. "I haven't even seen him in fifteen years," she mumbled.

"Perhaps you should come inside, it is cold out." She shot him a grateful look and she hesitantly stepped into the manor.

She swirled her head around as she walked shyly into the lobby. Warmth bloomed into her bones, melting off her cold unease.

Just the lobby of the manor was a work of architectural genius. Identical pillars stood bold in the corners of the room with hallways leading off to the side. The ceiling and floor had matching mosaics, lines of gold painted angles patterned along the walls. The intricate design and accommodating color sequence of the room made her eyes go wide.

He began to glide down a the hall to the left and she had no choice but but to follow behind, still hunched in on herself. The walls of the hallway were lined with warm incandescent lighting and oak chairs to accommodate a maple interior. The man reached the end of the hallway, which was very long, and turned left. He led her into a room lined with two large oak doors, which had been polished so that it shined, and everything that had been crushing down on her was gone as she observed it's beauty.

At the end of the room a fireplace wall carved into the wall and surrounded by beautiful stone work. Brown leather couches surrounded it in a circle and they were completed with a blanket over the end and multiple throw pillows. The room was lined with beautiful mahogany, carved in repeating patterns and the walls held all sorts of paintings, vases and artwork. There was only one large window, but it was covered in white curtains, the only light came from the lite fireplace.

"Wow..." That's it the world is ending, she was rendered speechless, only architecture can do this. She turned around and the elderly man had an amused expression plastered onto his face.

"Master Bruce will be home from work shortly, please wait here." The man left with out another word and she stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

To say she was nervous was an understatement, she was shaking, from excitement... and fear.

What if he didn't remember her? I mean they were only together two years. What if he lost his memories? What would she do then?

She ran shaky fingers through her hair, her curly blond hair falling in strands into her face. What if it was something worse?

What if he didn't want to see her?....

That could possibly be her worse fear, she hadn't seen him in fifteen years, what if he didn't love her anymore?

It's said that if you never go after what you want, you'll never have it. If you never ask, the answers always no. And if you don't take a step forward, you'll be in the same place.

She squeezed her hands into fists trying to stop them shaking, taking deep breaths to calm her heart rate. She wouldn't let her life be runned by what if's. She wanted, no needed to do this, to see her brother, she needed something to hold onto.

She watched silently as the man came back into the room and few minutes later with two cups of tea, the steam wafting off the top. The man offered her a cup with a smile and she shyly took it.

"Thank you sir." She looked back down to her feet after taking a drink, not knowing what to say. She wasn't ever really a talker, being together so long with...him so long, they just knew what each other was thinking. They could communicate through looks, she only really only talked to people when she had to explain things, which now looking back on her life, was alot.

"Missy if you don't mind me asking," the man asked interrupting her thoughts. "How do you know Master Bruce?" Oh crap... how was she supposed to to explain their relationship.

"He was like a brother to me when I was seven, I had just ran away from home and was living on the streets." She sighed sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Not the hole truth, but close enough. "He helped me when I was in a low place and basically took care of me for two years."

"When you were at the door you said that you hadn't seen him in fifteen years," he inquired and she turned her eyes back to the floor.

"When he was 18 he said he wouldn't have time to visit me anymore." She turned her gaze back to the man trying her hardest not to tear up. "He gave me his address and told me that maybe I could see him again when I was older."

"Why haven't you come sooner?" She just shrugged with contrite and her gaze filled with guilt.

"I should have, the only reason I remembered was because I was taking a drive and somehow landed in Gotham." She wrapped her arms around her form and finished off the cup of tea in one sip, wishing things, just once, could go her way.

"Alfred," the man suddenly declared  stretching out his hand for her to shake. For the first time in maybe a month since... his death, she gave the man, Alfred, a real smile. It was soft and a bit strained, but it reached her eyes, it gave her hope that maybe she could heal. She reached out and shook it.

"Annabeth, Annabeth Chase."

From every wound there is a scar.

Every scar has a story.

A story that says "I have survived"

Turn your wounds into wisdom.

Wisdom.

 

 


	3. A Lost Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On and on we go. From Bruce's POV, they will switch out every other chapter.

His eyes ached sorely, it was that one ache that presses against the back of your sockets. He stared at the screen blankly, the white light making his features almost glow in the darkness of his office. His eyes closed for only a second, blocking out the ache caused by the computer screen he had been staring at for hours.

It seemed like the world was out to get him, the worst villains in Gotham wanting to hear their names screamed by the innocent. The man sitting in front of the computer screen had not slept in 42 hours and it had been catching up to him. His eyes drooped again before he decided that maybe he didn't need to read every file, today anyway.

The man wore a dark expression as he remembered what has driven him to become this. The figure that stared at him back through the computer screen was not what he wanted to become when he was young, yet it was everything he had always yearned for. Somehow he managed to become what he had always wanted, but what he had always feared he would become.

He had become reserved, withdrawn, intemperate and at the same time he became powerful. The man reflected of the computer screen was the ceo of one of the most richest companies in the world. The man that had circles etched deep beneath his eyes was a publicised billionaire with more money than he knew what to do with.

That was all he was to anyone, a billionaire playboy. Of course he could care less about what people thought about him, but it darkened his thoughts to know that so many of the media's voices were right.

He wanted to do justice to those who had made him suffer for so long, so he did. He wanted to keep the streets of Gotham safe, he didn't want anyone to suffer the way he had.

The man that stared back at him was not who he wanted to be, he wasn't him. He was split between two people, two identities, one of his past and one of his creation. He didn't want to be the man who sat at a desk for the rest of his days.

No.

He had three identities, one the the knight of Shadows, one the billionaire built by the media, and the man when at the end of the day sleeps alone in the middle of a large manor. He didn't want any of these identities, but he was all of them. They were him.

He slammed the dreaded piece of technology shut bathing the room in darkness. The man rubbed his temples letting the exhaustion flow over him. Who did he want to be?

Whatever it was, it was none of what he had.

He could have whatever he wanted, yet it was nothing he could buy. He felt empty, void of his emotions, if he was being honest it scared him. Nothing could ever scare him, he had built walls for his mind, wall that were fortified and defended, but here was that feeling once more. It didn't scare him per say, he was more unsettled and ashamed. He let himself become austere, he had let himself become the man with no emotion, how could he be proud of himself for that?

The man stared blankly into the darkness, never letting his emotions show through his expression, no one needed to know what he was feeling. No one needed to know how much he missed his younger self, he had changed too much. His younger self was almost vibrant, he had a light shining through the darkness, the man that he saw in his reflection had been solitary for too long, not much remained of the young hopeful boy.

All of these identities, they were him, what he always wanted to be but what he had always feared he'd become.

He sat back into his chair and checked his watch, it was time to leave but he was never home on time anyway. The man reopened his computer and stared at the screen like he had before, trying not to think about his past. His past was behind him now.

His future was something he could always hope for but he couldn't linger on the past mistakes and moments that made him like this. All of the people he left behind, all of the lies he had told to her, he wouldn't be having a problem with his choices if it wasn't for her. She was on his computer screen.

She still had the untamed blond hair that was naturally highlighted in multiple places making it look different shades all over. Her features were smooth and tan, she didn't wear an ounce of makeup except for on her eyes and it brought out the color of her irises. That was the tell tale sign it was her, the color of her eyes, they sparkled with multiple colors if grey and they held a storm in them that made her look fierce.

The image was of her looking to the right, her face bathed in shadows and the background a deep grey. On top of the news article picture was a headline, a sight that almost made him smile. 'CEO Of Acropolis Architectural Firm'.

It was her that he had left in his past, everyone else in what he had called him home for almost 4 years had ignored him and made him feel alone, by himself in silence to deal with his parents death. She was there though, she was as equally as lost as he was.

He could still remember her fierce eyes from when they first talked.

\---FLASHBACK---

_He was staring at to the roof of the Athena cabin when he heard it._

_He couldn't sleep, it evaded him like it knew what sleep held. Sleep held nightmares, sleep held a distraction for the discontent that resided in his bones but with it, it brought nightmares, sometimes memories._

_So there he was staring at at the roof trying desperately to become tired but his mind was running to fast, he couldn't stop thinking. With his face bathed in shadows he closed his eyes him hope that his mind would follow but it was useless._

_He slammed his head onto the mattress and shifted his body to were he was laying on his but found that he couldn't get comfortable in any position he was in. He continued to stare at the ceiling trying to calm his mind when he heard a noise._

_It made all of his rampaging thoughts come to a halt. The sound was a sharp intake of breath like someone was trying to stop crying. The sound was followed by several sniffles and he found that the sounds came from directly below him._

_He silently twisted his body so that he was laying on his stomach and peered over the edge, his black hair falling in strands into his face. What he saw made his heart clench, his new sister was curled into a small ball facing to the wall with tear stained cheeks. She had curly blond hair that was pulled into a bun and the large grey comforter was pulled around her shaking form._

_He found himself jumping down from his bunk and looming over the small girl not knowing what to do. After a moment of biting his lip and trying to think about how in the hell he was going to help her he reached over and rubbed her shoulders._

_Her immediate reaction was jolting up and staring at him startled. He mentally slapped himself in the face for being so stupid and stuttered out a sorry._

" _Are you ok_?" _He questioned quietly observing how her face dropped and eyes lost her gleam. Her mouth form into a frown and she closed her eyes wiping them, trying to look like she wasn't just crying._

_"Yes." He stared at her for a moment before looking around at all their sleeping cabin mates biting his lip. An idea popped into his mind and he stood up abruptly and return a soft gaze to the curious child._

_"Come with me." He reached into his drawer and pulled out a black hoodie and a thin blanket. He cocked his head to the door and the girl still had  apprehensive features but scrambled off of the bottom bunk. After pulling on the hoodie he quietly open the door to the silver cabin and tiptoed out, the child on his heals._

_"Where are we going?" She questioned  and he looked back to her with a mysterious gaze. He circled around to the back of the cabin and stood in front of where a great oak tree was grounded._

_With one last glance to the girl he ran at the tree full speed using his momentum to push up the bark about five feet and grabbing onto one of its thinner branches. He swung, still hanging by his hands, onto the neighboring branch that elevated and hung over the cabin._

_Looking down to the child he bent over and held his hand down to where he could pull her up. When he motioned for her to grab it she looked at him like he was crazy. After a moment of stillness she looked around her surroundings and swallowed the lump on her throat, walking over and grabbing the outstretched appendage._

_Soon they were both climbing their way up the branch, dropping down silently on top of the silver cabin. He sat down at the edge of the cabin and she plopped down next to him her features more relaxed than before, but she still looked like she had just watched someone die, he knew that looked well._

_"What was it about?" He asked looking to the stars that shone brightly in the light less camp. Her gaze fell onto his face as she tried to form words and out of his peripheral vision he perceived tears forming._

_"What was what about?" She shot back almost defensively, wiping her eyes again. He just kept his gaze on the lightening horizon._

_"The dream." Came the reply from his lips and she looked down looking like she was trying to swallow a golf ball. A shiver racked her small form as a gust of wind blew over them, her thin orange shirt not doing anything to keep the cold away and he unwrapped the blanket from around his shoulders, finally handing it to her. She gazed into his adept eyes and a tear slipped over her face grabbing the thin blanket and positioning it over her form._

_"Thalia, " She said after a moment gazing in the same direction as him and he turned his head looking at her curiously, "My dream, it was about Thalia," she elaborated meeting his gaze._

_"The daughter of Zeus?" He questioned and she nodded closing her eyes tight. He placed an arm around her she took a shaky breath before continuing._

_"She was like my sister." She looked back to the horizon was starting to gain hues of red. "She sacrificed herself on the hill so we could make it into camp." Her voice was strained but strong and she held a look of anguish in her shattered eyes, stormy eyes, eyes full of intelligence and wisdom._

_"Bruce." He stated stretching out a hand for the girl the shake. Her tear stained cheeks gained an orange highlight as the first rays of light spilled over the horizon. With sparkling stormy eyes she took his hand and shook it, a small smile stretching over her face._

_"Annabeth." She leaned into his side as they both watched the rising sun bathed the valley below in golden light._

\---FLASHBACKOVER---

He stretched a hand over his chin as he stared at the image a moment longer, wondering. She was so lost when they met, they both were, they didn't know that life could get worse. When he had left her he didn't intend to leave her forever. He thought that maybe life would give him breathing room, but here he was 15 years since he had last saw her and life hadn't let up on its relentless storm.

This one girl, woman now, made him question all his choices. His choice to run from the life that he could have chosen, the life that he was offered. He had a choice between her and his dreams, now that he looks back on it his dreams had made him into something he didn't want to become. If he had a second chance, he would have chosen her.

It was in the past, the past was over, he couldn't go back on his choice now.  
He had intended for that last greeting to not be the end, he had intended to become something that he could be proud of, he had intended to leave a life behind but take a piece with him to hold. He had many intentions, he had several opportunities to go down a road that he wanted, but he took too many wrong turns. He was lost.

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on his watch. 8:37. Sighing he stood up from his desk, legs sore from sitting hours on end. Taking once glance at the picture he shut the laptop and shoved it into his bag.

Shadows danced along the halls as lights were turned out from offices and people started to end their days. The walls were white and most of the offices of the Wayne Tech building were glass so everything looked sleek and technological but it was missing something. He couldn't quite grasp what it was, but it was missing a feeling to it. It seemed like the design was dull, as if the mood of everyone in the facility affected to look.

He shook the thought out of his head as he entered his evaluator. He had built the tallest building in Gotham so it was a while before it finally stopped at ground level. The piece of machinery dinged and he stepped out into the lobby where florescent light shone brightly.

He had no idea why he was questioning his life choices now, he had become successful, feared. He wasn't lost, he was improvising. At this point in his life what could he do to better himself? Why on earth was he thinking about bettering himself?

He rubbed his forehead as he entered his car, a sleek black limo reinforced with titanium alloy. The image had stirred a piece of hope still inside him, for some reason he was drawn to the fact that she was happy. He didn't follow any events from the world of Gods and Goddesses, but he had a feeling that her life was more dangerous than most.

He didn't know what sort of things she went through, but he wanted to know, the woman would be one of the only ones whom he still cared for.

A ring sounded out through the vehicle, jolting him out of his thoughts. He swiped the answer button on the screen to the call, which was from Alfred.

"Hello," he called out, his voice impassive.

"Master Bruce, there is a woman that has shown up asking for you," the British accent was clear and sturdy, he was not nervous. He was suspicious despite the fact, he didn't need another assassin trying to kill him. Why would there be a woman waiting for him?

"Alright Alfred, I am driving as we speak." He got the driver to speed up the car and we plummeted through Gotham. He was always cautious with potential threats, but Alfred didn't seem to be worried. So why did he have a feeling in his gut that something was about to happen?

It was a twist in the middle of his abdomen, a feeling of unsettlement and angst. It wasn't necessarily worry or if you could go as far as to say fear, but it made him want to drive faster and confront the problem.

"Alright Master Bruce, I will keep her occupied till you arrive." With that the man's old friend hung up the phone and he found himself staring out the window.

Sighing he released a deep breath and rolled his head back into the black leather. After his parents death he had become suspicious of everything, everyone. People never liked him because he was always guarded, reclusive. People didn't find his company enjoyable because his curiosity knew no bounds, he had to know everything about everyone by any means necessary.

He could still hear the hateful words that were spat at him as he was rejected, discarded by the people he thought could be his new family. This only made his walls higher, his features less interactive, he wouldn't let any words or events touch him.

The only person he let in was her, she was the only one who cared about him. She knew the rejection he went through, even though she didn't fully understand what it was like she gave him wise words and told him that there was nothing to change about himself.

She was the only one who saw his emotions, when he left, it seemed that he had a permanent scowl etched into his face. She would always brighten his mood, though even back then he hardly ever laughed, she would always accept his urge to know all and she defended him when people didn't. He remembered her furious eyes as she defended her knew brother, the words of hate didn't penetrate his walls, but it made his sister's blood boil.

This one woman made him question all the paths he followed in an endless and relentless maze of lies and events. She had made him feel flippant, airy, she brought him out of his wall when he had spent time with her, to where he didn't have to shield himself from the world.

She sped through this maze with ease, sprinted through the fields of thought and ran her hands down the walls of regrets. Her somehow warm calculating eyes seemed to brighten his mood, now the fire was out, he was missing his hearth. He was lost in the maze.

This one girl, woman, sister, made him want to redo what he had chosen in the past. But the past was never coming back, he was daydreaming of times when he was insecure and made naive choices.

He jolted back to reality as the limo pulled into his driveway, daydreaming would do nothing but get him killed. He shook his head as if he wanted for the thoughts to stop, he could let his cold heart feel the longing of his past.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the slightly chilly air and readjusted his suit jacket. He gracefully drifted up the steps of a cold manor. To him the manor was not as homey as it should have been, it reminded him to much of his lost life, his lost parents. The manor was lite with warm light as he entered, but everything was cold now to him.

He needed to confront the stranger that was brought into his house, he wasn't lead with any described so he didn't have the slightest idea of who it could be, anyone who wanted to talk scheduled a meeting. It could have been anyone, he doubted that it was a spy or assassin, they wouldn't usually confront their target, they would just watch from the shadows and wait to make their move.

All his thoughts stopped as he opened the door of his living room, lite with warmth by a burning fireplace. There was voices, one of with a recognised british accent, but the other he couldn't identify.

The voices went quiet as he pushed to door all the way through and he looked at the scene in front of him with unconstrained shock.

It was her.

Her grey call eyes looked to me like so many years ago, her face bathed in the golden glow of the fireplace.

Maybe he was lost, but how can you be lost when you don't know where your going?

All he knew was that he didn't want to be lost anymore.

It was time to go home  
  



	4. A Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they finally reunite, I don't know how I write almost 7,000 words of them just only about the see each other. It was a force from some mystical being. Here's my shit now read.

  
It all seemed so mundane, surreal. It was like she was watching the events play out in a film. Scripted words and camera angles telling the story of her sorrow. It just didn't feel real.

It felt like a story, a myth like one of those she had relied on her entire life. She felt like nothing was ever up to her, that the fates had wrote out every detail of her existence before she could even think. It was tragedy after tragedy, the major heartbreak, it all sounded like a horrible soap opera.

She felt used, molded like clay, bendable. It was like everyone else had more control over her life than she did. She had tried to retain control of her achievements, anything that had really mattered but it was gone in the wind, nothing felt like it mattered anymore in her life set in stone.

It's said that everything happens for a reason. Anyone who ever uttered those words don't know loss, they don't know the feeling of being a prop in these stories. They haven't walked so close to the edge that the looked over the peak into the endless void, past the point of no return, and considered leaping over.

She had come too close too many times.

She couldn't let herself hope, hope that things could get better, she would just fall harder. It seemed like every time she hit the ground it got worse and worse. Almost like she never fully  healed from the last fall, they kept piling on. She was weighed down by the world falling on her shoulders, she wasn't used to carrying it alone, it was to much.

I guess you never know how strong you are until being strong is all you have.

She was weak.

Why did she feel like she would fall any moment, collapse any moment from the weight of the sky. She had held the sky, the literal weight of the world on her shoulders and yet this felt even more taxing. She would take the world again in a heartbeat.

It seemed that her greatest strength was her most significant weakness.

He held her up, when he left she fell. She is still falling, unable to get a hold on herself, on what made her herself. It seemed that everything he did complemented her strength and tore away her flaws. Now it was like everything he did for her, the strength her gave her disappeared. Her legs were buckling under the weight of the sky, the ground had opened beneath her and she was hanging off the edge.

She didn't want to fall, but sometimes it was tempting.

It was so tempting at times to give in, let go, fall to the ground and she was so weak. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she had already fallen. At what point will she officially fall? How could you even tell? Is it just something you decide, life can't get any worse, you've hit the stone floor. Is it something that you feel? A breaking point? Had she snapped?

She was too moldable, bendable. It seemed like her life was the plot of some insane story, the twists and turns, the tragedy, truth and heartbreak making the readers pick apart her life like just another character. She might have already fallen, she might have already released her hold on her last thread of sanity, the ground could have already opened up beneath her. It might not have as well. How far could she bend until she broke?

She didn't think any of these questions really mattered though. What mattered is the question on if she could stand again, stand tall against the cold wind of the endless void.

It's said that you don't realize your strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.

It's also said that that having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.

Truth be told she didn't know what to think anymore. Was she broken? Was she weak? Why did she takes to heart these keen phrases, these words that others have spoken, people she doesn't even know. On one end people say that crying isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of trying to hard for too long. On the other end the anonymous crowd types behind a screen that silence is the loudest scream.

All of this was inside her mind, the argument of on if she was strong or weak, hitting rock bottom or standing tall. These metaphorical lines scream at each other trying to decipher what shes feeling into words. These thoughts and periodical words of wisdom try to calm her rampaging feelings.

It was to mundane, surreal. A storyline.

She gazed at him from across the table.

He was taller. Of course that was the first thing she noticed. Back at camp he had yet to breach 6 feet and now he towered over over 5 foot 9 form. The 15 years had done him well, no longer the saddened acne barer teenager. His jawline was chiseled and defined, his black unruly hair combed back so it framed his face.

His eyes though... they changed the most.

They were still the piercing blue, they still were like an explosion of color onto his face, yet they were different. They seemed guarded now, 15 years ago they seemed almost innocent, driven, now they were.... nothing. No emotion showed on his face, it was completely impassive. When he had first walked through the living room doors she perceived the initial shock and then it was gone, his features shut off.

She knew the mask he wore well, she had donned it as well. The stare was blank, features impassive, but she could already tell what he was feeling. If it was anything like the longing, questioning, assuming that was running through her mind, she had a lot of explaining to do.

For now though, the room was bathed in silence. It's said that silence is true wisdom's best reply. Though meaningful silence is better than meaningless words, she wanted to speak, to cry out her faults and her sorrow. Her lips remained in a pursed line, her face impassive as well. She wouldn't no what to say.

Her blond curls fell in ringlets over her face as she turned her gaze to her untouched grilled chicken. She hadn't eaten in approximately 30 hours but she was untouched by the pull of hunger. The sounds of a fork hitting a plate echoed through the large dinning rooms but her body remained still. Her thoughts had run so ramped she hadn't made any movements since they sat down.

She eyed the fork, literally silver, before picking it up hesitantly and letting it sink into the food. She brought a the food to her mouth and let it disappear into mouth, chewing and swallowing. She put the fork back onto the plate and didn't pick it up again, there were to many thoughts, to many feelings, food was out of her interest.

"I suppose we should talk." Her voice pierced through the tense silence, more like a question than a statement. The sounds of the utensils touching the no doubt expensive China ware stopped before the man before her set his fork down. She saw an unreadable expression flash ever so quickly across his vision, but it was gone as soon as it was there.

"Yes, I guess we should." Was the monotone even reply, his emotions were bound up tight. Her eyes still wouldn't meet his, they refused to look up, to see even a hint of anger.

"And I suppose I should give you an explanation of why I'm in your dining room after seeing me 15 years ago." Her voice wavered a bit but she held back the wave of emotions, she refused to cry in front of him. He just nodded in response and her eyes squeezed shut in intense focus, blocking out the urge to get out as fast as she could.

She wanted to run, run as fast as she could, get out of there, she wanted to run from everything. But it's said that anyone can run, it's super easy. Facing problems and working through them, that's what makes you strong. She was so weak, she could run, she could break, she could fall. But she could also stand tall and strong, she could stay and face it.

The only thing you regret is the chances you didn't take.

Silence engulfed the room once more and only then did she look up, tearing herself out of her thoughts. Her grey eyes swirled with her now visible emotion. She couldn't hold it back anymore, didn't want to.

"You seem...different," she commented, her tone uplifting at the end. The locked gazes and it took all of her will power not to shrink back. She held it for a moment before longer until his gaze softened a bit as he analyzed her.

"You as well, " he returned breathaly and her gaze saddened, remembering what it was that had made her this way.

"D-did you ever find the man?" She asked almost nervously, he would know what she was talking about. She didn't want to upset him but the question had edged it's way into her mind.

"Yes," The tone almost made her shrink back. It was somewhere between guarded and aggressive, he obviously wasn't going to elaborate on the subject. Her shoulders slumped and she turned her eyes downcast once more. "How's Luke?"

She bit her lip so hard It almost bled and she swallowed back the unwanted emotions boiling in the back of her throat. It was a moment before she finally met his gaze once more, her grey eyes were a bit harsher.

"Dead."

He opened opened his mouth to speak but swallowed back the reply when he saw the raw heartbreak in her eyes.

"A lot happened after you left, I'm glad you got away when you did, I don't think you would want anyone death." She returned her eyes to her lap and silence filled the room. How could simple silence be so loud?

"What exactly happened?" He asked slowly and with no emotion, yet curiosity. She kept her gaze at her lap this time, not wanting for him to see her so weak.

"War," She answered warily, her tone unsteady. She took a deep breath and repositioned herself on the seat glancing at him nervously before returning her gaze to the floor. "I-if you really want know I'll tell you but your probably better off ignorant."

"Telling a son of Athena that he doesn't want to know something, not the best way to deter a subject, " Was the answer and she let herself show a small amused smile.

She took a deep shaky breath and tried to think of the words to start the tale. She pushed up out of her chair and walked around the table taking the seat next to him. She met his eyes one last time before beginning the painful recollection.

"It started with a new camper, his name was Percy Jackson, the hero of Olympus."

He stayed up with her for hours as she told the story. All of her life a tale, nothing more than another myth. She told him everything, the deaths, the decisions, the guilt, the fear. Taking about the wars wasn't the hardest part, it wasn't even tartarus. It was talking about him, he was there every moment, every hard turn, her best friend. Talking about it didn't make it any better

It had all ended with the young woman in tears and a man hugging her tight to his chest knowing that she had had it worse, she had donned more pain. Soon both of them were exhausted mentally and physically, the question was soon asked.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Bruce asked, his features told you that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I suppose, if It's not any trouble," She responded despondently, her cheeks stained with the tears she had tried so hard to hold back.

Sometimes you don't need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breath, trust, let go and see what happens.

Your choices reflect your hopes not your fears.

Maybe she could lean on someone just a bit.

The plot thickens......


	5. A Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes, or are they? Annabeth meets Dick, things go down that many others found very hilarious. You'll probably scowl and call me horrible. I'm sorry.

One choice.

Sometimes that's all it took. It could have been a series of expeditious decisions that all led up to where you are now but it could also be that one thunderous moment that stood out over all the rest. Though it takes time to achieve the dreams of the ones before us there has to be a moment, a decision, a person that made you try harder, open up a metaphorical door. She wasn't what sure what her choice, decision was but she knew the person that had made the most impact on her life.

Through the wars, the constant death and living nightmares she had made so many choices, so many decisions. It was something that she never wanted to hold upon her shoulders, she didn't  want to handle the responsibility of all the lives lost, all of those demigods who didn't make it back to their sisters and brothers. She did though, she made all of those choices, she quested on through a war and journeyed through hell. She didn't feel compelled to chose all her paths, all she wanted was to be done with all the sorrow, the heartbreak. There wasn't one moment in her life that changed it forever, it wasn't her choice at all.

It's said that you are free to make any choices you want, but you are not free from the consequences of the choice.

She understood that more than most, every choice has a consequence, every consequence eventually led to pain. She had definitely the pain of her choices. She couldn't recall any decisions in her life that didn't have a major impact on her existence. Sure there were small choices that didn't have an impact at all but then there was the different corners to turn down, the people that she accepted into her thoughts, the hard choice of a leader. And she felt the weight of all the consequences more than most, she wasn't by any means inadept in process of making hard split second decisions, but every person that died because of a choice she made hit hard onto her conscience.

It's not like she could simply forget her decisions, her mistakes, death, it's not that simple. She could push the weight of her exhausted form for someone else to bear for a moment, but no one was here now. He would always help her bear the sky, his smile would lessen the blow, but....his smile was gone. Her thoughts drifted to Bruce, which was complicated at best. She couldn't let him bear her weight, she saw the pain in his eyes, even if it was hidden behind a mask of no emotion, it was there. He was all ready pretending to be headstrong in face of his own ominous demons.

Once again, she was unable to make a choice. She could have laughed, it seemed that she could never make a decision when it really counted. Everything used to be so clear, so black and white, good and evil, in her mind she was able to figure out what everything meant. She still could, analyze movement, come up with the most conservative move, but it's like she lost her will to scream it to the world. She didn't want to try anymore.

She was so tired of trying and making choices it was as if she didn't have any energy to will her legs into motion and get up out of bed. Honestly, this had never happened before. She would always get up before 8 unless she was extremely injured or was on a quest. Now, she found her self laying down in the bed of her brothers guest room staring at the ceiling at 11am. The warmth of the white comforter engulfed her in a hazy indistinguishable feeling. To be honest she couldn't identify it. It clouded over her in a sense of calm but all she wanted to get rude of it, it felt strange, alien. Her arms didn't move to her commands and even though her thoughts ran ramped her head was locked onto the pillow staring up at the white ceiling.

It was unnerving, she had never felt the urge to let sleep engulf her so ferociously. Everything was so warn and her body betrayed her, her form unmoving despite her mind screaming at her to get up. She didn't budge an inch but she couldn't find the need to become frustrated, her mind running wild but still engulfed into a hazy cloud. She had never felt the amount of sleep full exhaustion and the paradox was intriguing yet she still couldn't find the will the wrap her head around it.

The urge to live was slowly seeping out of her bones and on some level it scared her. Even though she was lying down surrounded in piles of warm fabric, her ADHD in active, she couldn't think. To say that she was actively trying to move now would be a lie, all the tension fleeted her mind to block out the real events around her. Maybe in this cocoon of blankets she could forget the life that had betrayed her ideals.

A sudden tune of chimes pulled her slowly out of her motionless state, groggily turning her head to the phone on the nightstand. Each ring sent tendrils of pain into her skull like  an empusa jamming their sword into her brain. She stare at the device with half lidded eyes internally groaning from the amount of movement that would have to occur in order for her to answer it.

This was to new, the feeling in her bones that resembled some form of exhaustion. She felt like if she moved her arm to answer the phone her whole existence would perish. She let out an annoyed huff and reached of for the small metal object with warm fingers. Clearing her voice and pushing down any signs of sleep from her form she swiped the phone's screen to answer. She refigured her form into a sitting position making the bed dip down with her wait and the blanket pull down into her abdomen.

"This is Mrs. Chase how can I help you?" Her voice pierced the silence with a slightly vexed, firm tone.

"Ms Chase, this is your assistant Jade, the Acropolis board of directors needs an update on your current use of activity." She mentally sighed and almost threw the cursed object across the room. Did they have to interrupt her brooding session?

"Yes Ms. Nguyen‎, I have taken a leave of absence in light of certain events, have Jeremy Seligman run the board while I am away. Send all finishing projects to me via email for review." Was the smooth emotionless response.

"I will set things up...and I heard about Mr. Jackson, I hope you are well." She swallowed the lump in her throat closing her eyes tight, he was the last thing she wanted to think about.

"....I am, I will be back, I just need some time." Her voice was bound up tight, closed off to show no emotion. The topic was not one she wanted to focus her attention. She hung up on the girl and her shoulders sagged with a form of emotion that was most represented by the word 'done'. The action was not meant to be rude, and she hope that her assistant would understand that, but she didn't have it in her to initiate a conversation lasting more than a minute.

Taking a deep breath she finally had the initiative to swing her legs over the side of the bed. The receding warmth of the comforter lingered on her legs like a coating of fog and all she wanted to do was pull the oversized blanket over her head and never face the world again. She imagined that the kitchen was a good enough destination for today, she didn't have to enact a discussion of dead fiancés with the microwave.

Her feet hit the ground softly and she slowly stood up to her full height stretching out her unused muscles. She would have to make a trip to the gym before she lost her skill. She breathed in a deep breath and began trying to walk casually to the door. It was such a miniscule action, walking, yet it felt as rewarding as if she out weaved arcane. She failed at walking with the confidence she usually held, each step was a bit hesitant, but it was walking none the less.

She braced her weight on the door, all the cells in her body screaming at her to open it but her mind fighting her movements and pulling her back to the retreating warmth. She bit her lip hard and twisted the bronze knob, pushing all the voices into the back of her mind. The door opened slowly with a long drawn out creak and her head peaked out like a bird, her eyes darting between the two ends of the hallway with nervousness. The rest of her form followed moments later, disregarding the unease of being lacking a confidence. It felt so strange to have this sort of anxiety in only slightly social settings. Conversing with her brother the night before was the most she had talked in a week.

For once she understood the life of an introvert, finding it hard to contribute in social interactions, she almost groaned at the thought of talking to someone. Don't get the words out of line, she had never been such a social small talk person. she wouldn't dream of pulling aside someone like Drew and discussing fashion ideals, in fact she found it slightly repulsive. Getting her ideas out there, talking to people face to face to make sure they understood the directions, taking a stand on a topic, she would gladly show the confidence in her voice for those things. She couldn't even find her voice now. 

She was till dressed in the night T-shirt and over large sweatpants that had the drawstring pulled tight, from which she had borrowed from her brother, on as she walked down the furnished hall. Her footsteps echoed lightly against the white tile floor and her hand griped her arm with a mission to be as diminutive as possible, navigating the maze like hallways to the best of her ability. She should have no trouble making it downstairs to the kitchen, it should have been simple. She was titled the wanderer of the labyrinth, daughter of Athena, a so called genius architect  but here she was, not even able to navigate her way through a neoclassical styled manor without getting turned around and running around lost like a distressed adolescent.   

Finally, her head poked into a room with a white trimmed door in which the smell of tea wafted out, she almost grinned. Breathing the familiar scent in with content, she entered the quite large kitchen with a form of shyness. With inspecting eyes she breathed in the architecture and design of the room like it was a new toy, all shiny and young, ready to be used. There was a kettle of tea on an electric stove with steam jetting out the top like a stream of clear smoke, making the rooms humidity rise to level where she almost felt warm, relaxed. The rest of her body followed in content and she just stood in the middle of the room no really knowing what to do with herself. 

She really had nothing to do, no goals other to run away from her problems, no thoughts other than to not let her thought focus on someone she was always thinking about. She had a firm to run, but if she could barely walk to the kitchen without getting some sort of social anxiety how was she going boss around and entire company? She wasn't ready, or willing to face the real world yet , but she did have a suitcase full of clothes, a laptop, a wad of cash, and a showing of introverted tendencies. Fun. 

"Would you like a cup of tea Lady Annabeth?" She nearly jumped out of her bones, so lost in thought that she hadn't seen the elderly man enter the doorway behind her. 

"U-Uh yes, thank you Mr. Pennyworth." She tucked her finger into her sides, trying to keep her shaking hands from showing to the no doubt intelligent man. He nodded with calculating eyes and gracefully strode past her to the now whistling pot, taking out a china cup out of the cabinet. 

"Did you sleep well?" She asked, her face full of fake enthusiasm that was all to easy to see though. After a few more moments of struggling with forming a real smile, she gave up and looked back to the butler trying for any other emotion than the one she was feeling. The man just gave her a pitying smile and she knew that she wouldn't be able to hide anything from him.

"I did Lady Annabeth, and you?" She shrugged and tried to act casual but failed miserably. Her shoulders were tensed like she was expecting someone to hit her and she was sure that her eyes took on more of a 'scared deer in headlights' look more than the social confidence she had been practicing.

"As about as good as it's going to get sir." She responded trying to leach away all the emotion from her tone. He just nodded and handed her the warm cup, heat emanating off the top and warming her nostrils allowing her to relax even further. They fell into silence, the blond haired girl not feeling like initiating a useless conversation and the man silently respecting that fact.

Soon the cup became empty and she stared down into the ceramic glass like it betrayed her. With a grin frown she washed the glass and placed on a metal drying rack next to the sink. For some reason Alfred smiled at her like she had just saved his metaphorical child. She just kind of stood there awkwardly leaning against the kitchen table, taping her foot restlessly under the gaze. So much for confident social interaction.

After a few more minutes of the man smiling at her warmly from across the kitchen and her avoiding his gaze at all costs, she pushed her self of from the table and offer the man a wave as she walked out the door. To be honest she exited the manor folding in on herself as small as she could get and popped open the trunk of her car that was still stationary in front of the manor from the night before.

If you were to really think about it, it was all her fault, that night. Before the incident they had just rented that apartment in Manhattan to be closer to the firms location. Her firm, it was her dream, her fault. All her fiance wanted to do was graduated collage in New Rome, settle down together in the only safe city, live in peace. But she disturbed that dream with her own, shot down by her own ambitions and desires that fleeted any existence of the peace they could have know. The Firm. It was her choice and she dragged him along on her own prideful tirade not even caring if the heartwarming smile became more pain with the thought of how they could have been relaxing in the shops of new rome instead of fighting for the chance to grow a new corporation.  

Her conscious became more and more burdened with each thought of how every action that she had influence put him in that house. Every road  she dragged him down placed him right behind the barrel of a pitch black glock. The more sh thought about it the more she realized that she was his life, she was his death, she was his killer. She might not have been the one to pull the trigger but her hands metaphorically  pushed him behind the speeding bullet in recognition of her own life. She was selfish, add that to the list of flaws hidden behind  a mask of the 'genus girl who could do no wrong'.

Her gaze turned the the contents inside of the trunk, her belongings. After the incident she had gotten out of that house as soon as possible, as she removed her stuff her eyes had avoided the colossal crimson stain in the white carpet. It was an ongoing investigation, but the police didnt find anything as the room where it happened was taped off and she was forced out of the place where she had made a home. Now the contents of her old home were placed inside the small trunk like the things they were, stuff. She had buried the albums of photos in the bottom of her suitcase not able to look at his face an she had left all of his stuff in the place where he died so not much was there, but she couldn't find herself caring about materialistic items. She had let her mind drift when all she wanted to do was to get cloths to where so she didn't present herself like a teenager not wanting to get up for school.    

Slamming her thoughts out of their spiraling  cataclysmic storm, she tore through the zipper and grabbed a black T-shirt with white skinny jeans. Next to it was a pair of black slacks and a grey dress shirt but her mind immediately shut down the idea of dressing like a business woman in a casual setting.

She shuffled back into the manor with the cloths in hand a bit awkwardly. Well you could say awkward but really it was just unfamiliar. The walls were like a castle around her, tearing away any form of calmness that was known as she entered her own home. She looked down the halls to each side and attempted to remember where her room was placed but ultimately failed in the try. Instead of wondering randomly around the manor for a considerable amount of time she walked down the right hallway to the room that occupied the kitchen.

As she pushed open the door and froze where she stood.

There was another man.

He looked like he was in his early 20's, well muscled and lithe. Black messy hair framed his face and his slightly tanned skin contrasted easily  against.  He was just there, casually leaning against the counter in jeans and a white button up. He too had taken up the toll of drinking the elderly man's miracle tea, enacted in conversation with him. From the way he stood she analysed that he was still tensed and ready for action even though seeming casual, his left leg bent in a way that would call for maximum movement. He was trained well she could tell that much.

The door squeaked slightly as she peered into the kitchen and both males spun their heads to her direction. She observed that the man tensed even further making lithe muscles move under a layer of skin but he was still staying in a seemingly relaxed position against the counter. Intelligent eyes analysed her form  as well, raking across her body quickly. If she was a normal person she would have missed all of this completely. 

Unfreezing herself, she moved her attention the Alfred who was staring at her somewhat expectantly. His expression seemed to be somewhat bemused and and her eyes flicked back to the young man who was still in the same position.

"Can you tell me where the restroom is sir?" She asked somewhat shyly and he smiled. He was about to respond when the man butted in.

"I thought Bruce and I had an agreement about bringing his flings to the manor." His tone bleed vexation and she just stared at him for a moment before narrowing her eyes.

 He did not just-  

He couldn't have meant-  

Oh that intergluteal cleft in between the sacrum and the perineum.

 " _ΛΕΧΡΙΟΣ ΚΥΝΤΕΡΟΣ ΑΝΑΣΕΙΣΙΦΑΛΛΟΣ!_ βάλλ' εἰς κόρακας!"(You slimey good for nothing dick! Throw yourself to the crows!) She yelled slipping into ancient greek. "Di immortales! Δεν είμαι πόρνη!" (The immortals! I'm not a whore!)! Alfred glared at the man to her great approval.  

"Master Richard, this is lady Annabeth. A guest at this manor for the time being, do not refer to her in that manner." Alfred scolded the man and he held his hands up in surrender. She put her hands on hips and scowled at the man. So much for being socially unconfident, he had just basically called her the plaything of her brother. She just glared at him for a moment, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. The man, Richard, just fidgeted awkwardly under her gaze. 

"Master Richard I do believe she is awaiting an apology" Alfred cut in and he took on sheepish features and stuttered an 'oh right' before holding out a hand to shake. She stared at it for a moment before reaching out and shaking it, eyebrows still raised and waiting for an apology.

"I'm sorry about referring to you like that-" He began his tone ot at all the apologetic. 

"I mean it's not up to me how you spend your life-" He was digging his own grave now.

 "I mean i'm sure you and Bruce have a very auspicious relationship, it's not nice of me to refer to you as a fling-" She felt her eyebrows raise, this was really not helping.

 "You should really stop talking Richard" She stated calmly, a light smile gracing her features, she didn't get many chances to mess with people. "I would say Bruce's and my relationship is very auspicious."

"Mhm yes that's probably true." Richard struggled out with pained features.

"Though it may be considered incestual we love each other very much-"

"Yes, i'm sure you do- wait what!" She struggled to contain a laugh at the man's expression, it felt appealing to release a lighthearted sound after so long not even talking to people. A smile graced her features in a full out grin, she was never one for tricks or games but she had to admit it was fun. 

"So you and Bruce are not a thing?" He stuttered out, his voice raising a couple of octaves. 

"No, Bruce and I are not a 'thing' as you so crudely describe it" She answered, holding a hand out to the man. " Annabeth Chase."  

"Dick Grayson" He shook her hand with a matching grin. "So what are you doing here exactly? if its not rude of me to ask." She bit her lip and thought of a response for a moment, how would she explain her sudden show up to the manor?

"um..well-"

"She has come rekindle her sibling relationship with Bruce after a brief intermission of separation." Alfred cut in and she shot him a grateful look.

"I've lived him for 10 years and he's never said anything about you...or any family members." He stated blank faced. Well he asked way too many questions for her liking. 

"It was a very long brief period." She answered through a now fake smile and slightly gritted teeth making it very clear that she was becoming vexed. "Anyway, the whole reason I entered the room." She turned to Alfred. "Wheres your restroom?"

She was somewhat reluctant to change out of the comfortable sleepwear, but ultimately decided she was an adult and just because her life was messed up almost beyond repair, it didnt mean that she should resort to becoming a languid bum. She peered at herself in the mirror, more refreshed after taking a quick shower. Her hair was no longer as matted and laid in strands against her chest, her skin no longer oily. She just felt...clean.

She ran her hands through her damp hair just trying to relish the feeling of of her hands on her scalp, warding away the tension in her shoulders. She never found much need to focus on her appearance, it was for other people that so many stressed over there physical attributes so severely. She just had never found the need to become what everyone else wanted, to be better than _she_ could imagine, not opinions she could hardly ever care for. In conclusion I she didn't care about her reflexion, never had. So why had she rubbed her hands over the blemishes and scars along her arms and torso?

Scars were a part of being a demigod, you didn't get by without a scratch to remember it forever. Every demigod had there collection, there very own story, she had more than most. Closing her eyes she blocked out those scars, she didn't want to think about the story they told, the decisions she had made, the mistakes.....

She pulled on her black T-shirt and white pants, glancing at her reflection in the piece of metal one more time before tying up her hair and exiting. The night before her brain wouldn't stop striking out thoughts, about everything. One that had multiple recurrences was the question of why? Why had she made the choice to come here? She could have kept driving, ignoring the past, making a new future. But she came back to before everything happened, no wars, no death, where she wanted to be was in the past. She wanted to stay there forever.

She couldn't though, she knew that eventually the present would come rushing to her, ripping her out of her dream, tearing away her life once again. Like she had said, the fates had already written it all out for her. She just wanted it to be her choice.

Sometimes that's all she wanted.

A choice.


	6. A Series Of Intriguing Events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Here comes the action!

It started with a phone call.

Well no, that actually wasn't true. It started with a dream.

Not like a dream to be successful or to have a family, no an actual dream. Your dreams aren't fluid, you can have several dreams a night during the REM stage of sleeping, there's also no set time in your subconscious telling you how long a dream can feel. Demigod dreams are normally the most horrific, filled with monsters, death and war. She new personally how these dreams felt, and she despised the countless nights where she had woken up in a cold sweat from a vivid nightmare of a past experience.

Those were some of the nights where she eventually cried herself back to sleep. It wasn't because of the dream though, they were more likely than not to leave her sleepless, disheveled and paranoid. She found herself with tears slowly dripping down her face on those nights in retaliation to the coldness of the bed. Under the heavy comforter it was warm, but she never felt so _cold._ It followed her, the cold chill, left her feeling hollow, she just wanted to feel warm.

So yeah, demigod dreams suck. The nightmare she had experienced wasn't much better. It left her disheveled for sure, but something that made it worse for a child of Athena was present, the nightmare had left her confused. She hated not knowing something, not understanding why, it took away from the feeling of security she got from thinking everything made sense, that it had a pattern and the science wasn't above her. This dream, it made her unease grow with frustration that just circled around to more confusion. Wherever she connected the dots, things didn't make sense, didn't add up like it should. That left her with two conclusions, either she was wrong, or she didn't have enough variables.

Well first off, not many things could make her confused, that was a feat of the gods. The dream itself wasn't exactly confusing either, would make her mind twist was the reason she was having the dream. Dreams aren't definite, they can happen at random, but it most likely correlates with something going on in your life. A dream is an act of symbolism, people that are discovering themselves and the difficulty of going through it may dream of a maze or labyrinth, a symbol of the journey and the overall goal of finding something. A person that is losing their true identity due to social standards or constant integration of what others think can dream of having a mask placed on their face and not being able to tear it off, more of a warning. A girl struggling with self image might see a mirror, and the person that stares back at them is not them, maybe who they think they are, maybe who they want to be. A loss of a loved one may trigger ashes and dust to fill your night, or it could be them leaving, receding into the distance, losing them in a crowd.

So she wasn't confused about what in the dream, she understood what normal dreams meant even if it wasn't just another normal dream. What she was confused about was the fact she dreamed about Batman. Over the weeks since his death, all she seemed to see during the night was the love of her life letting go. Whether it was from him releasing his grip on her hand and falling into an ominous crevasse that she didn't want to name or her feeling the bed dip down next to her and hearing the words 'I love you' whispered in her ear before he disappeared forever. She didn't know what horrific nightmare was worse.

After so much despair in the middle of the night, the dream was welcome with open arms, but she was still confused. In the dream, the gotham night was fighting someone she couldn't place a name on. It was so vivid, the clash of a batarang against a crowbar. The man that Batman was fighting was certainly skilled, yet exceptionally strange. He had a completely white face like his skin was bleached and red lipstick configured to look like he had a permanent smile on each cheek. His hair was bright green and he wore a suit, who fights in a suit? It is completely idiotic, the restriction would give the oppsion an inconceivable advantage. It didn't seem to make a difference in the fight anyway. She could tell by the way he talked about about a son, a robin, the way it made Batman react with a narrow of eyes, that the he was more about worming his way into a mind other than physical skill.

The fight ended after a moment, him pinned to the table smiling widely and Batman holding him there by his lapel. She also realized that the man was mentally ill, the way his eyes shone with glee in front his own pain is a look she had seen more than she would have liked to. The man continued to speak freely about death, the death of someone important. Than the subject changed to a rule, a rule that Batman actively wanted to break. The anger in the Gotham Knights eyes was something she recognized immediately, something she felt every single day. Loss.

She was beginning to think this much more important than a piece of symbolism that correlated strongly with her life events. The dream ended with Batman basically growling out a response that was on the lines of 'If you kill a killer, the amount of killers in the world stays the same'. She watched in fascination as Batman knocked him out and only moments later did she find herself staring at the bedroom ceiling.

That dream was by no means normal, but demigod dreams never were.

Sunlight streamed into the room through a window beside the bed, bathing the room in warm morning light. At least the small stuffy apartment was warm, it had that gong for it. Maybe moving off of her long lost brothers metaphorical couch was a step in the way of getting her life back together, maybe it was a step back into the intricate murk of her mind. She blinked owlishly, her eyes adjusting to the newfound light. Her muscles stiff from approximately 13 hours of inactivity.

The apartment was bare. It was like a dull method of solitary confinement, anchoring her in bed with chains of her own will. The only things she had was one suitcase full of clothes and a photo album from her house that she refused to go back into. All she heard in the room was her own little steady puffs of air, nothing else, not even movements in the sheets. It was too quiet.

How long had it been since she had spoken?

A long, drawn out sigh escaped her lips. As long as she was in this bed, nothing was being done, she wasn't making any sort of difference. In her previous years she would have gone insane with the silence, on a level she was losing it right now. So why wouldn't her legs swing off the bed in the motion she had practiced for almost 20 years?

A familiar chime ripped her from her thoughts. Her head turned to view her cell phone screen lit up on the bedside table. The generic tone making her want to close her eyes and fall right back asleep. Sighing, her arm searched blindly for the cursed device and answered with something close to anger. Strange thing the human mind, looks like she couldn't find a middle ground between the silence and conversation.

"Chase." was the even word solely uttered out of her mouth.

"Mrs. Chase, this is your assistant Jade. I'm sorry for disturbing you but there has been a breach in security in the firm's sever." Now she wanted to bang her head repeatedly against the pillow.

"That's nearly impossible, or server bounces off of 300 IP addresses every minute. Can you access what information they uncovered?" Her hand was now on her forehead, massaging the temples in preparation for the extreme migraine she was about to have.

"I would have to get a tech consultant. From where I stand, it looks like they had assess to architectural blueprints." She bit her lip.

"I'll be there in approximately 2 hours, pick me up in JFK. Have tech analyze the breach and what ever you do, do not let anything escape beyond the firm." She barked throwing the covers off her legs. This was going to be a long day.

Her black heels clicked against the marble floor if the JFK airport, crowds of travelers filling in from the plane. Under no circumstance would she ever enjoy the heels. The tan pantsuit was a maybe, but the heels would forever be her enemy.

She readjusted her jacket, trying not to let the layers of a mixture of unease and anger show through her facial expression. Trying to not let anything show. Her wild blonde hair was gelled back into a high bun, anything else would have took too long.

She scanned the crowd for her secretary, Jade, who was a lean Vietnamese woman in her mid 20's. Mentally preparing herself to deal with the cantankerous human population even more than asking for peanuts on the flight, she dug an earpiece out of her back and stuck it into place. She had 14 missed calls.

"This is Chase, report on case Delta 535." She ordered into her ear, trying to ignore the commotion all around her.

"Mrs. Chase, at 4:28 AM we were alerted of a possible security threat within our systems." The head of security responded immediately.

"Has tech specified the information the hacker had access to?" She questioned quite alarmed.

"Yes, they have, but it was only the plans to one location."

"Send me the entire file immediately."

"Affirmative." She disconnected and her pace seemed to quicken.

Who would have the power to hack an entire system and only access one file?

No. The greater question was why.

She found Jade waiting anxiously at the gate, almost nervous. Jade was never nervous, she was the perfect worker, cool under pressure and had authority with a cold hard stare. It was a great feature for handling interns. Now however, the ways her hands fiddled with the edge of her clip board and she taped her foot against the marble ground. She was fidgeting, she never fidgeted.

She knows something dangerous.

"Mrs Chase." Her voice was slightly higher in tone, eyes briefly moving down into the left as to think of something she did. She then came back to forced eye contact, sign of regret or lying.

"Jade." She kept her tone even, not even narrowing her eyes at her assistants behavior. "How's Lian?"

The dark haired girl's eyes flicked up in surprise, not often did she indulge small talk. In fact she hadn't had much of a reason to talk at all. It might have been out of character but there was a strange look in her assistants eyes. If she hadn't learned to determine the meaning of certain body language and physical actions in a mixture with hidden interrogation the would have never noticed.

"She's great. Just started walking." Her smile seemed to be strained, something else was occupying her mind. Her irises flickered to the bottom left of her eyes again, thinking of something she did.

"What have you found on the security breach." Another bought of forced eye contact. Jade would have never had to force eye contact, it was almost like she was acting differently on purpose. What did she know?

"Tech has determined that a skilled hacker has gotten access to a file under the code name Infinity. Even we can't access it without your biometric approval." In her defense, she didn't let her eyes wider at that information. She scanned the face of her assistant, looking for any ticks and tells of lying. There wasn't any.

Oh how she wished there was.

"Jade, call the FBI and get me to the company immediately." She growled out. She didn't need this stressful experience.

Her heels clicked against the tiles once more, almost running. It just had to be THAT file, that one file that was important to her entire career. Whoever held the plans to that building was now a national security threat. Jade followed behind at the same speed with her hand pressed against her earpiece no doubt calling the FBI.

"Maim!" She glanced to her assistant. "They want to know what was in the file."

She took a raged breath and stared at her with so much intensity.

"Blueprints to some of the most important buildings in the world."

She paced the floor of the conference room, her footsteps echoing off the metal walls of the most secure room in her building. The whole area was sound proof, the walls padded and lined thick with led. No outside electronics were allowed in and before you entered, you had to be scanned for metal before you got anywhere near the entrance.

That was the only reassurance she could find at the moment, the room was secure.

She didn't see the need to equip members of the board onto the matter. Most of them were geniuses, highly intelligent and capable, others were educated in the art of making business. If she brought the wrong people in, views would clash at any moment and compromises would have to be made. Nothing would ever get done. She also couldn't count on the fact that all of her partners were loyal.

She closed her eyes tight and stood still, she just had to think, why was it so hard to think?

The FBI was sending a team of agents over to investigate the matter, but she didn't need a team of agents to know that this breach in security could potentially be an act intended for crime. Hell, this could be an act of terrorism. She slid into the head seat at the end of the conference table, analyzing the screen as if it had failed her. She had trust in her security, it had 15 nearly impenetrable fire walls built up on the main server with encrypted access codes. Then the system had individual access codes and a biometrics scan for each individual document. She had important projects and designs on the system.

What unsettled her was that you could barely detect any trace of hacking. Most people would use a straight up front attack, breaking down fire walls with forceful viruses and coding, they would have never gotten through. When a hacked breaks into a system they always leave a trace, a certain way to break in or a traceable program. This hacker, he or she was skilled, skilled enough and smart enough to use multiple methods and somehow got access to her biometric scan. That was a feat in of itself.

The team began to file into the room and she glanced up from her computer to acknowledge their existence. From the pattern of controlled and methodically but quickly breaking the program from the inside like a disease she could tell the person was intelligent and knowledgeable in not only computer science but some form of history like strategy, or as a hobby. She glanced up from the computer a minute later and locked eyes with the obvious leader of the team. She signed and stood from her chair, she didn't like explaining things.

"Hello, my name is Annabeth Chase. I'm the owner if this firm, Acropolis Industries." She held out her hand to the blond man, his grip firm and strong. A good sign of authority.

"I am Dean Strekly, the administrator for the team." she nodded to him in recognition and made eye contact with the rest of the member of the team. 6 in total.

"Thank you for being here, I could use all the help I can get. It seems to be quite the mess and I would like to get it over with as quickly as possible." Before she could say anything in following another voice piped up behind the man.

"So, how did this happen." Her eyes ran across the man for a moment, taking him in. He had long brown hair and deep forest green eyes, she would go as far as to say scrawny, but he was lean. His eyes caught her off guard though, she could tell everyone in the room was intelligent in their own field, but he seemed to be comprehending everything at light speed.

"At 04:28, the main server had a breach in security. The hacker, who is unidentified at the moment, gained access to a file under the name of Infinity." She began, pulling up the documents on the holographic table with a swipe of her hands.

The members of the group viewed the contents of the file in semi states of shock and understanding. Above the table, the team viewed a 3D view of hundreds of images. She swiped up above the table and the image shot upward revealing even more. The Parthenon. The Empire State building. The Effiel Tower. Taj Mahal. Burj Khalifa. The world most know buildings were all there.

"Also known as the infinity program. For some of the most skilled and ambitious architects to find a way to make these buildings and monuments last forever." She grabbed the middle of her arm and closed her eyes as she stared at the buildings. It was one of the most important things to her.

She had always desired to build something that would last a millennium. To have your legacy settled in the ground for centuries on end making people gawk in wonder at art set in stone. It wasn't even the desire to be known, she wanted to be there, planted in the ground forever. It was her fatal flaw, but she drew the line at endangering others. Her dream may someday be self destructive, but if a single person lost their life she wouldn't ever be able to forgive herself.

"Each document has notes by some of the most experienced people in the architectural field, weak points and structural deficiencies. This information could be potentially dangerous to ever has the will to cause mass destruction. Detailed enough to let the White House come crumbling down with a single pipe bomb." She finished.

The occupants of the room blinked processing the information. Words like mass destruction and phrases that have to do with destroying the mansion that our president lives in we're quite dismaying. Who wouldn't be intimidated by the prospect of potentially hundreds of people dying?

"This can never reach the media, " a man with glasses sitting at the other edge of the holographic table spoke up, "There would be international outrage, this could be an act of war."

"What are stats on hackers?" A buff man in a suit asked. She was about to respond when another woman beat her to it.

"74.29 percent are male, but not all hackers have this level of sophisticated technology. I'd say less than 10 percent. Then there's the chance that the hackers is operating out of this country." She smiled thinly at the woman, she possessed great intelligence.

"Yes, while that fact is true, I am not sure how the hacker came to posses the information in the first place. The hacker would also require my biometrics to enter the system, so it's likely that he has interacted with me at some point or tailed me." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"We'll need a list of the participators in the project to start the investigation," the team's administrator concluded and she nodded, releasing a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Only hours later did she find herself planted in front of a computer in her office. The light illuminated her face revealing a deep threaded scowl caused by the deep anger suddenly building in her chest. All that she had built here, a new life, was being threatened and she refused to sit back and watch it turn to flames. She didn't understand why it had to be that file. That one file that would make or break her. She couldn't find herself ever sitting back and watching her dreams burn, knowing that something could have been done and this danger could become what ended her.

They were all the same, people and monsters. She didn't know how she didn't realize it earlier, they are so similar. The monsters that always seemed to torment her blended into a crowd with magic only cloaking their physical appearance. Physical appearance didn't even matter, yet they were still monsters trying to outrun her and take all she stood for. Now that she knew the true nature of what the people are, she couldn't tell the difference between a monstrosity and the people she interacted with on a daily basis. The line between what is to be human and what it is to have your soul so blackened and shriveled that you would never tell that it once held an ounce of honesty was no longer something she could conceive. She had to concede to what she felt, but weren't the monsters that she fought once human to?

She had studied countless books and techniques to analyze human behavior, finding out what makes people tick. Now that she was here, sitting in front of a computer screen, it had a greater level of difficulty than deciphering speech patterns or seeing the hidden meaning behind micro expressions. What she did know was that whoever hacked her systems, didn't do it for well meaning affairs.

The question she needed to ask was why. Why does someone want to cause mass destruction? Why do people feel the need to do wrong? She couldn't pretend to know what someone was thinking while she was staring at traces of of coding used to break into her hopes and dreams. It could have been anything that drove the speculated man, money, religion, illness. She couldn't come up with any scenarios that would drive a man to destroy something so beautiful. It had to be that file.

She had to stop it. She had to stop whatever could happen because of her program, she couldn't take it if anyone got hurt. Gods know that she had seen enough death and pain before she was an adult.

Scanning over the code once more, she tried to see patterns and number sequences similar to kits sold on the black market. She had never seen something like this before that was made by a human, it was too complex, too sophisticated. Meticulously crafted and designed to break her systems coding and hers alone. She was being singled out, attacked but technological battle was already fought. The coding like the enemy's battle plans, fighting for something she never wanted to give up. A dream.

She was about to slam the laptop shut after another 30 minutes of scanning through the coding. It was well past midnight now, if she had to guess it was around 3am, and her eyelids felt heavier with each passing moment. The moment she was about to shut the computer and try to wash the sleep out her eyes, she saw it. It was in the coding, the entire ghost shell of the program was a message made out of 0's and 1's. Her eyes widened, it was in binary code.

01000010 01100101 01110111 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000011 01101111 01110101 01110010 01110100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01001111 01110111 00001100 01101100 01110011 00101110 00001101 00001010 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110100 01100011 01101000 01100101 01110011 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01110010 01110101 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01000111 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100001 01100100 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110000 01100101 01110010 01100011 01101000 00101110 00001101 00001010 01100010 01100101 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01111001 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110100 01100011 01101000 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101000 00101110 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 01111001 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110100 01100011 01101000 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 00001101 00001010 01010011 01110000 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101001 01110011 01110000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101101 00100000 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01111001 00100111 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110011 01100101 01101110 01100100 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01010100 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100 00101110 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 01010111 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01000111 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100001 01101101 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01110100 01101000 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010111 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 00100000 01101010 01101111 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100101 01101100 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101000 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110011 01110101 01101110 01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100101 01110011 00100000 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100001 01110101 01110011 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101100 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110011 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00101110 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 00100000

Her breath hitched as she translated it to English. She didn't know what it meant yet but she would be damned if she didn't figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I gonna translate that? Nah you'll find out in the next chapter.


	7. A Hit Where It Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More action. Things happen. Her assistant is an assassin, you know, a normal Tuesday.

_Beware The Court Of Owls._

A punch landed onto the punching bag with a resounding deep thunk throughout the room. It was well worn with years of continuous use, taped in some places to keep the sand in. Unfortunately, she couldn't say anything better about the building. Just another abandoned warehouse in Gotham city, only this time it was an abandoned gym full of dust coated equipment and visible tetanus . She couldn't be in the company of other people at the moment though, that would end in disaster considering the amount of fire that burning in her eyes.

_That watches all the time._

She grunted as her hits got harder, hard enough to hurt. A bead of cool sweat skirted along the side of her jaw, pooling in a mass of dampness. Her teeth were gritted tight as she punch the bag in a series of well placed hits that would have at least broken a rib if the bag were a person. She moved her right foot forward as her fist impacted the beaten sack in a right hook, ducking as her nonexistent opponent made a retaliation. She flung her body upwards and pushed off the ground and spun horizontally to deliver a kick to the side of the bag, landing in a crouch. Her chest rose softly as she clamped her eyes shut, more beads sweat visibly streaming across her features.

_Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch._

She had been doing the exact same thing for over three hours, landing hits on a plastic bag filled with sand like it would solve any her problems. Each hit that rang out through the building, low thumps created by her fists that were wrapped up in cloth. It was burning inside her, a fire worse than that of the hellish river phlegethon. She didn't know what to do with it, the fire that she felt. It was trapped waiting to be used, yet the only thing they ordered her to do was sit and wait, that they would handle it. She wasn't a soldier anymore though. She didn't take orders, her experiences and her wisdom gave her enough power to make strong decisions and act off them accordingly. She had to use that fire, but it was sitting there, dormant, waiting to show its face.

_Behind granite and lime._

She wasn't even tired, she was to frustrated for that. Each thump that resounded against the bag didn't ease the ever growing reserve of anger boiling deep inside her chest and threatening to climb out of her throat. Each kick that made tipped the bag sideways, kicks that would break bones, didn't make her feel content, none of it did. The punches flung at the bag full force didn't calm the deep rooted hatred that was bursting out to anyone in particular. She grunted as her sore knuckles connected again, a flare of pain igniting in her bone. It was ignored.

 _They watch you at your hearth_.

It seemed like she couldn't catch a break, it was hit after hit that made her ache in the most unpleasant places at times she couldn't control. Sometimes it was a night as she layed in her bed alone, reaching over for comfort for a nightmare, finding it was gone and it would never come back. Sometimes it was in a conversation, words that were meaningless invoked thoughts that meant so much more. Most of the time, it was when she was alone, she couldn't escape it as she let her guard down and the emotions flowed through her stony face.

_They watch you in your bed._

 Sometimes she couldn't tell if it showed, how shattered she felt. Cracked open, the contents of what made her the person she is visible and completely vulnerable. Maybe now she was easy prey for the viscous animals wanting to drag her down from her perch, a simple meal, more meaningless that the words she used to make herself strong. Was she strong? She used to feel so strong, now all she felt was cold. All she could hear were the voices of other predators telling her just how weak she was.  

_Do not speak a whispered word of them._

What was it that made her strong? The void and dictionary definition of strength is a good or beneficial quality or attribute of a person or thing. That seemed meaningless, but it meant that the meaning of what strength really was varied from person to person. Strength could also be the will to keep fighting even when hop is lost and your o far gone, or maybe that was idiocy. The fact that she could only rely on her still limited knowledge and genetic wisdom as a strength made her queasy. When she thought of all that she was and is ever going to be, it made her stomach drop, a ball of an emotion like panic rise in her chest. Maybe the doubt that she strong at all was her only weakness.

_Or they'll send the Talon for your head._

Her breath came out in short pants, trying desperately to keep her emotions from controlling her movements. She despised her own anger, it clouded her judgement. Keeping a level head was one of her most important skills, but she had to keep from attacking the nearest object and tear it to shreds and or completely destroying it. It was as if her skin was the only thing holding her back from simultaneously losing control and falling to pieces. 

Her mouth filled with the taste of iron as she bit her tongue, mixing with the saltiness of her own sweat. She muscles screamed as her fists connected with the bag with more attuned vigor, sending jolts of lightning up her arms as her wrists twisted. She breath was ragged, but it was hardly caused by any level of exhaustion, her rage seemed visible in every hit. Her anger was too unpredictable, her controlled hits to the bag seemed to be wild swings that ignored the pain. It was bubbling up inside her, at the edge of her throat wanting nothing more than to explode out of her chest.

Her fist flung towards the bag with all of her anger, all of what she wanted and everything she was going to get. The detestable roar ripped from her throat as her hand connected to the bag, feeling the shock waves pulsate through her fist. Flares of the familiar pain intensified and shot up her arm, her knuckles still burning and aching. The bag vaulted off the chain, skittering a few feet away with a loud thump as it rolled across the floor.

Then she was on the ground, the cold concrete ground pressing against her sweat filled yoga pants. Her head found a place between her knees, the rest of her body convulsing with quiet sobs that didn't reach her eyes. It was like she was trying to breath without air, her throat convulsing until her chest ached and she was required to inhale. The musky, heavy air filled her lungs and her muscles immediately loosened, pushing her head further into her knees. Her shoulders dropped and she rolled them around trying to get the tension out in the small of her back. The soreness of her arms made each movement ache in her biceps.

Her back straightened as she slowly sat up, if it wasn't for the shirt you would see each and every vertebra in her spine. Maybe she hadn't been eating as much as she would like in the past Months. Perhaps she hadn't been doing much at all. She hated that she had let her lean muscles grow atrophied, without the strength to get off her self centered ass and get her heart racing. So what was she doing now? Was punching a plastic bag full of sand for more than three hours till her muscles ached and her fingers bleed, any better than staring at the ceiling lost in self destructive thoughts?

She brought her fingers to her chest, curling them to feel how they stung with every movement. Hissing at the jolts of pain, she unwrapped the cloth from her knuckles, revealing blotches of purple and darkened skin along with blistering red at the peak of each bone. A sigh escaped her lips, filled with annoyance of her stupidity was too much to take without feeling some level of regret.

Regret, was it just the blistering pain from her fingers that had her regretful? Or was it every moment that she had lived after his heart stop beating in his chest and the warmth in his hands faded out? Was this deep ache in the back of her skull and in the base of her chest the result of the pool of blood seeping out of his lifeless body? Was it the glossy eyes that shined on the dull light of their apartment, fading out as they gazed into her eyes?

She forced herself to breath evenly, holding her stomach with the deep feeling of it churning. Even with her trying to think about that night, she always saw it in the back of her mind, replaying it over and over till it made her sick. She couldn't escape the memories. They followed her, trailing behind like a shadow, getting longer as the sun started to set. They never left in the darkness of the night. 

 Her fists clenched painfully, trying to break the thoughts ripping up her composure. The thoughts that haven't left her mind since she had stared at the coding on that computer screen. The series of numbers in binary coding that translated to the source of her frustration, her anger. 

 _Beware the Court of Owls._  
_That watches all the time._  
_Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch._  
_Behind granite and lime._  
_They watch you at your hearth._  
_They watch you in your bed._  
_Speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head._

 _We will meet in a place of Gotham's worth._  
_Where knowledge joins with sheltering hearth._  
_When sunlight shines over austral._  
_That is when you lose it all._

She didn't have a clue what it meant and she was being driven to insanity.

She found herself on a loveseat couch in the dark only a few hours later, sinking into its leather cushion. Night had already fallen, making shadows dance around the room from a stone engraved fireplace. The method may have been beyond what she would usually do but she needed answers. The way she got those answers would be sort of invasive, but she couldn't find it in herself to care when such was at stake.

She examined her hand by nervous reflex, the rippling warm light illuminating patches of bruises along the peaks of her knuckles. Her hand traced the skin near them and she felt it ache deep and dully. The only thing she was missing that would have made it feel like she was inside a movie was a drink in her hand but no matter how much she yearned for something to calm her wild mind, she refused to resort to raging alcoholism as a mean of copping. That wouldn't be very wise if her, but then again neither was the action she was taking at the moment.

The light of the fire bathed her features in the warm light, shining across her eyes, flickering in the heat. She inhaled a deep breath, tilted her head to the ground. It seemed like she was always tired now, even though she slept more now than she ever had. How ironic.

The squeak of a door swinging open flowed through her ears, along with the click of it closing. Her head immediately shot up and her back straightened, she wouldn't be in the dark for long. She glanced to the left waiting to hear the oncoming footsteps, they were faint, but there.

It was only a moment later that she felt the cool bite of metal under her chin, pressing dangerously hard against her jugular and windpipe. She would be lying if she said she expected that, but she didn't react to it. A hand pressed her back slightly to hold her there as well as the blade and she didn't see any way of getting out without using her words.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?" The voice of her assistant spit out through clenched teeth in mix of passive aggressiveness  and anger. She pointed her chin up and the blade followed, still biting uncomfortably against her neck.

"I don't think decapitating your employer is a smart way to get a raise Ms. Nguyen." The grip in the sword loosened drastically but she still didn't react, keeping passive features and a low heart rate. She didn't move until the blade fell from her neck completely.

She rose from the couch slowly, not even glancing at the person who had just put a sword to her neck. It was safe to say that she was used to sharp objects coming very close to her vital areas. She stepped quietly next to the fire place and dropped down to the floor. The flow of heat prickled at her skin, it felt strange on her cold arms but not bad. She waited for more interaction as she stared into the mesmerizing flames that flickered and crackled.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" Jade questioned, her voice wasn't as filled with fury now, more annoyance and confusion.

"I need your help, " she answered,  still not looking up to the flames. She rubbed her hands and moved the closer to the warmth, relishing the feeling of comfort that flooded her swollen fingers.

"What help could you need from me?" Jade inquired carefully after a moment, her voice saturated with caution. Annabeth glanced through her peripheral vision, not quite capturing the the other woman, but coming close to turning around.

"Don't play dumb with me Jade," the words purred out of her mouth, twisting the mood in the air for even more tension. "I know who your are." She locked eyes with the other from over her shoulder in a pause. "I know what you do."  

Jade's gase was close to a glare, indignation rising in the woman's chest was answer enough. Silence tore  through the walls of the room, enveloping the room in a battle of the still, unmoving gazes. She needed answers that the other woman could provide, it was as simple as that. The other woman was the one to break the silence.

"What is it that you need from me?" Her voice was orotund, broken off, impassive. The voice of an assassin.

"I need you to tell me the truth," she responded after a moment in the quiet, it was brittle and breathy, you could hear the desperate undertone. "Everything, what the hell's going on with my firm, who the hell the Court of Ow-"

Faster than she could blink, she was being slammed into the wall. She hadn't even stood up yet her face was parallel to the vietnamese features of the other woman and staring into her dark eyes that were filled with something she read as, for lack of better words, fear. Her shoulderblades burned at the area of impact and she grit her teeth in response to the tight, powerful hand gripping her jaw. It took all of her internal strength to not body slam her into the ground. 

"Don't say the name," She hissed lowly, the initial emotion covered up with deep vexation. She shook her hand off her jaw, rolling her shoulders before glaring at her. 

"And why not? Mh? Am I going to find an even more mobid and painful way to die every time I utter the simple phrase?" Her tone taunted, thick with disbelieving wit. Jade stared back with darkened eyes, almost pity.

"Nothing about that phrase is simple Mrs. Chase, it never has been and never will be. What you will come to see is a legend, a myth lost in history. No one knows who they are, no one know what they do, and it's safe to say that no one ever will." She growled out, still looming over her like predator and prey.

"It's safe to say that a myth doesn't scare me," she retorted darkly. 

"The myth doesn't care if you believe it or not, but you'll care once they string your intestines up to decorate the Wayne towers gargoyles." Her eyes flickered at the mention 'Wayne', but for only a millisecond.

"Oh, believe me, I know their real," she spat out, voice gravely. "But a myth doesn't scare me."

_Not anymore._

"Ignorance will get you killed Mrs. Chase, this isn't some low life in front of a computer." She turned away and rubbed her forehead like she was confronting a child. "Their roots run deep, their everywhere, everything and everyone. Even now they watch you, watch me. They know you better then you know yourself, are always 15 steps ahead. Get out while you can, run like hell and cut off all ties to anyone and everyone." 

Well what a clusterfuck.

"Well," she paused and blew out a stale breath that had been rotting her lungs. "Looks like i'm already 3 feet under."

"That you are, just don't drag me down with you. I don't feel like claiming the throne in hell just yet." She let a miniscule grin grace her lips in response to jab.  

"Is there anything else you could tell me without getting strangled by your own guts?" She retorted with something like morbid humor. The other just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I would have told you if I knew anything. A word of advice before you get the fuck out of my apartment, don't try and fight them. You're already dead, struggling will just make it harder," Her voice slipped out like silver. She looked down and breathed in the warm air of the apartment before responding. 

"Sorry to put this so crudely, but you don't know me or know what i'm capable of. I'm not going down without a fight, never have, never will." She responded more deflated than before. 

"I usually don't have empathy, or feelings in general," she confessed, "But I'll hold you to that Mrs. Chase. Drag as many down as you can and put on a damn good show, life killing people for money is more vapid than it seems."

Annabeth grinned, the comment breaking through her thick walls of a stone cold soldier. That sounded like a plan.

She moved to pick up a glass of wine from the counter, handing it to the woman like a sacrificial offering. Jade eyed it and her eyebrows rose to her hairline, it was obvious that she wasn't going to drink it but that wasn't the point. Annabeth shrugged and pushed it to her lips, the moisture of the her skin just making contact with the glass before it moved in another direction. The glass shattered against the brick wall directly above the fireplace and spilled its contents into the flames. The sparks and crackles grew louder and heat seared through the room momentarily the blinding light to cloud her eyes. 

Right when the other woman was about to scream at her for ruining a perfectly fine wine glass, she found the space where she had been empty. She scanned the room, the window was slightly popped open. She ran to the edge and scanned the street below but there was no sign of her. So she was left wondering for days on how the hell a business chick scaled  12 stories and fooled a goddamn assassin.   

    
  
  



	8. A Feeling Of Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love it when people interact as children and there's flashbacks to the past? Well I hope so cause I love writing 'em.

He really didn't know what to expect from the brief interaction between him and his sister. That was the plain, ungodly truth laid out before him for it was hard to expect something out of something that was unexpected. He would be lying if he hadn't thought about more than reconnecting over a strained dinner and a tearful story. If he were being true to what was actually on his mind than he would have seen that the relationship with her was something he should take for granite or push away by ignoring her presence.

He didn't exactly know why he did though, push her away or lie to her face by telling her that he was normal. Neither of them would ever be 'normal'. Nor would they ever be truly capable of showing their true colors without force. If there was one thing that both him and his sister had in common it was that they were stubborn beyond belief, taking an argument as far as it could go to win. So no neither of them were normal people, he risked his life on a daily basis and she had several years of training in several different forms of martial arts and weaponry and analyzing body language. She had fought in wars against creatures that he had turned his back on before she could even drive. At this point, claiming both of them as abnormal people would a major oversimplification.

The physiological reason behind his decisions were lost in the wind, along with missed opportunities and the commitment of forming a long lasting platonic relationships. This would have all been fine too, he didn't need distractions from his goal and he had enough responsibilities in his life to find it extremely enticing to share his emotions or have any sort of relationship with anyone other that a one time playboy act, but it was that feeling in his chest that he couldn't ignore. Not like pain, but it was so long since this sense of longing had occurred, back to when he had left the cursed camp in the first place. When he left, he was equally afraid and relieved to leave. She was the only reason he stayed for so long.

\--- _FLASHBACK_ \---

_"Bruce." The dark haired boy turned his head away from his book to the girl who had spoken. The look on her face was almost fragile, like a milion thing were running through her head in a single second. Thoughts that she could decipher._

_"Yes Annabeth?" He answered, eyes running over her face trying to analyze her expression._

_"Why do you think people hate?" She asked slowly, picking out her emotions from every single word. He opened his mouth in response but no words came out, how do you answer that?_

_"I-I'm not very sure how you want me to answer that, I mean-" She cut me off._

_"Just answer the question you King Query. I asked for your opinion, not for you to recite Plato." He felt a sigh escape his lips as he closed his book and scooted over on his bunk bed, patting the place next to him. She slid into the place next to him and listened intentaly._

_"In your brain, there are structures that control hate. The Putamen and Insula, which are cognitive structures in the Sub Cortex, right behind the Cerebral Cortex. The Putamen is more in the ways of contempt of disgust, such as subjecting hate towards seafood because it doesn't please you. The Insula is in charge of distress, subjecting seafood to hate because you are allergic." Was his traditional thought response._

_"But that's how you hate, in society, what causes people to hate others so intensely?" She waved her hands out in front of her, proclaiming her distress through exaggerated movements._

_"Well-um well think of this way. In science, there is no cold. Particles moving at all is only called heat, as the particles move faster, the heat energy increases. Therefore there is no cold, only an absence of heat. Maybe in the world, there isn't necessarily hate, but an absence of contempt-ness. What drives our society to 'hate' differs among all people, but all are driven to 'hate' because the set of values or ideas that they have come to know. The line between love and hate is thin though, they are both controlled through the same cerebral structures."_

_She was quiet for a long time, not exactly refusing to look at him, but keeping her eyes trained on the headboard in front of her. Against better judgement, he delved into a deeper area of conversation._

_"May I ask why this question has come up?"_

_"No reason," she blurtd out all too quickly, eyes flickering to the left and then forcing stained eye contact. He just raised his eyebrows as she uncharastically showed signs of nervousness. "Just a thought I guess, it's really not important."_

_He grabbed her hand and moved her chin up so that it was nearly impossible not to stare into his eyes. He analyzed them, how they darted back and forth with her breath held up in her throat. Grey eyes and body language that showed sign of confusion._

_"Annabeth, you are very intelligent, but you must get Luke to teach you how to lie." He let go of her face and leaned back, but eye contact remained. "Now tell me why you asked."_

_"No reason, I just heard some things..."_

_"Annabeth, tell me."_

_She turned her gaze down, focusing on the grey covers instead of the demanding tone in her brother's voice. It was a moment of them bathed in the rooms silence before she finally spoke._

_"The others, they talk. They think that I don't know what they're talking about, but I know what they're talking about. They say hideous things about the other campers, people they dislike." She found her footing and stood up by the bed in front of and he voice gained an edge to it. Like she was lying to herself._

_"I mean, I don't care." Her face fell." Didn't care, well until your name came up and they all laughed, LAUGHED, at the prospect of you fighting a son of Ares and winning. They all said you were weak, controlling and they called you names Bruce."_

_He wanted to respond, but once again he found himself biting his tongue. He didn't want to ruin the girl's view of the camp as a perfect safe haven, maybe it was for her, but to him it was the humanoid reincarnation of tartarus. He had allowed himself to hope that he might be able to ignore the fact that most of the other children in the hell's camp didn't enjoy his slightly condescending attitude. It had been working for the majority of the time that_ _spent in the Athena cabin, alone studying different literatures and sciences._

_Maybe, inside the confines of the place that was no where near close to his home, he found_ _comfort in knowing that the knowledge and experience he gained here may help him deal with other people's behavior in the future. That was the only comfort he would get here other than befriending a young child that had gotten inside his ribcage so quickly and the knowledge that he was becoming a better fighter._

_"I know Queen Keen, sometimes they do that. Don't listen to hateful words, they're always bias, but it's best not to retaliate either. People will talk, it's up to you to acknowledge what they say and never take it to heart." He held up his pinky finger. "Promise me."_

_She stared at the appendage for a moment before her face broke out into a grin, which brightened up the moment considerably. She rapped her pinky finger around his and tugged on it._

_"I promise."_

_\---FLASHBACK OVER---_

"Mr. Wayne!" The voice of his secretary snapped him out of his thoughts. He hadn't thought about the woman in 15 years and now all of the memories he had tucked away in his subconscious were surfacing, endearing him to take action. To not let it fall away.

"Yes?" he raised his eyes from the computer on his desk, staring at his secretary in the doorway. The light from the screen reflected off the features of his face, bathing them in a white glow.

"You have an appointment with the CEO of Acropolis Architectural Firm in 20 minutes, sir." with that she scurried out of the doorway and down the hall while Bruce was frozen in place. He did not recall ever being informed of a meeting with her, if anything he would never forget it. His training as a vigilante included committing to memory a sizeable amount of information, memorizing potential weaknesses and several thousands of contingency plans. No, he would have forgotten, he was never informed.

He shut down his laptop, that had gone dark quite a while ago, a little too forcefully for his not to be visibly peeved. He leaned back in his chair and it groaned under his weight, bringing his hands in a relaxed position behind his head. The everlasting scowl was still in place on his lips though, that would stay till he had to interact with another life form.

It was only a few minuets later that his sister entered his office, visibly disheveled for reasons beyond his knowledge. Her head was still held to the ceiling and her chest was puffed out as if she was a performer, what could either be a sign of latent confidence or acting. She sat down quietly in the chair on the other side of his desk and folded her hands in her lap waiting for him to begin any form of conversation.

After a few seconds the quiet got to her and she spoke up.

"So." She brushed a stray blonde curl out of her face and straightened her spine. "How have you been?"

"Well, and you?" Was his toneless response.

"Fine."

Silence.

More silence.

It has been approximately 15 seconds since someone has spoke.

A sigh escaped his lips and he thought of something to say, something to ask.

"Why are you here." That may have been too hostile based off her suppressed reaction.

"Do you remember capture the flag at camp? We would play every week in the woods." If it was possible to catch him off guard, that would have caught him off guard. He just made a vague movement in his head in affirmation. "The team that had the Athena kids would usually win, we drew up plans for at least 20 different battle strategies every week."

"One of the events from that camp that I would actually find no problem in remembering." he muttered under his breath.

"There was this one time, I think I was 8, we were playing against the Ares and Hephaestus cabins. They somehow were smart enough to have a Hermes kid take a copy of our plans and then set up traps for us along the wood. Long story short, we ended up hanging upside down with our feet bound in rope and hanging from a tree."

"You were intensely scared, I remember." He coughed out.

"I couldn't get down." She looked lost in thought, wiping her eye absentmindedly. "You made me promise, gods you always made me promise. You said that it was ok to know fear, to be afraid of something that you couldn't control, but you made me promise to not be afraid of things that I could control, completing in my own abilities. You made me promise that I wouldn't let the fear control me, my actions. Not to be afraid of life and push your way through because it was under your control."

"You cut yourself down."

"I cut myself down Bruce."

"You broke your arm, but yeah, you cut yourself down." His lips twitched for only a fraction of a movement. Her face became sullen though, her eyes losing light and whatever fraction of a smile her lips held dropped.

"I broke our promise, on multiple occasions..." She bit her lip and turned her head towards the floor.

They were silent again, but it was filled with all the wrong things. The silence was filled to the brim with affliction and dysphoria, it was too terse for his approval. Moving somewhat out of character, he laid his hand over her's that was splayed out on his desk. She brought her head up again and took a deep breath in to collect herself. He had a feeling, call it intuition, she had to do that a lot these days.

"But you also made me promise to admit it when I need help." She swallowed thickly.

She moved her hand out of his and into her pocket, pulling out a slim black device. He eyed it with furrowed eyebrows as it clattered to the desk and tensed out of habit, he had no reason to be suspicious of her actions at this point. It was a straight black slab of metal about three inches long, about as big as a phone but slimmer.

She pressed her index finger into the center and the place where her finger was left a glowing blue imprint as she retracted her hand. Like clockwork, the slab unfolded and connected different joints until it was a centimeter thick black sheet that radiated blue light around the perimeter. He met her eyes and she just everted them.

"I was told to not trust anyone, to not speak with anyone, to not even say the name." He had heard many things come from her voice, a broken sob, a witty response, even a scream from a midnight nightmare, but this, this was fear.

"What name?" His voice came of ruffer that he meant it to be.

"Access Project Infinity. Password encryption: Spider." She waved her hand smoothly over the sheet and it immediately raised into a hologram. It glowed with different famous buildings from all around the world. He swipe a hand upwards and the images scrolled up showing hundreds of more.

"The name is The Court Of Owls, I was hacked by them and they gained access to this file, they left a message in the remnants of their programing." For once he was at a loss, he had never heard of them.

"I'll help, I know you would help me." He responded wholeheartedly. She nodded back despondently.

She moved her hand and pressed her index finger into the middle of the device and it immediately began folding back into the previous form. She pushed it towards him and stood abruptly from the chair, ready to hightail it out of the room. Before she left he called after her.

"I guess this is a little harder than reciting Plato, isn't it, Queen keen?" He viewed as she she tilted her head to the side, her back still to him.

"Be careful, King Query." She shut the door behind her and he was left sitting alone in his office, staring intently at the words scrawled onto the piece of paper she has slyly slipped onto the table.

' _Meet me at the corner of of Cherry street and 7th, then we can discuss your cosplaying activities in a more secure location_.'

He usually didn't curse, but this time he thought he deserved it as he let out a single word.

"Fuck"


	9. A Time When We Didn't Have To Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know this book is gonna end sadly.

The sharp click of heels echoed of the walls of the alleyway with the beginnings of being emphatic, the repetitive beats sounding each time her foot hit the asphalt. The walls on each side were akin to something you would see in a greek dungeon that reeked of death and abandonment, not a populated city. 

It wasn't hard to find something to hate about Gotham, to abhor. The streets acted as a large cesspool that simply invited the dregs of society to escaped their own personal hells in favor or creating someone else's. Mothers held their children tight to their chests as they shuffled along with trepidation, fearing what may be lurking in all of the cities dark corners. Even now her skin tingled as the beginning of bumps ghosted her arms, partly from the cold air, partly from the voluminous unease that had dredged into the folds of her mind. 

It looked like the world had finally caught up to her, she had stabbed a knife through beings three times her size, and now her heart hammered louder from the one yellow flickering incandescent light at the edge of the street. It was the beginning of anxiety, increased heart rate, dilated pupils, shortening of breath. She couldn't fathom how this city had egde fear into her brain, but that seemed like one of the only things that this city brought forth. One of the great accomplishments of it, other than breeding murderous psychopaths.  

So yeah, there was a lot of things displeasing here. The government was corrupt, the vigilantees that took action weren't enough sometimes. There was more abandoned warehouses than trees that didn't seem monochromatic. Heck, the people matched the overall theme, but she guessed that was why it drew her in like curse she couldn't escape.

She breathed on the way her heart was racing, how the adrenaline pumped through her veins in a vicious cycle. For the first time in a long time something felt good, felt different. There was energy flowing like fire underneath her skin, the heat she hadn't felt in a long time. No, she hadn't really felt those emotions, the fear so bad that her hands shook, since she was a petty teenager going from saving the world to developing a crush in five seconds flat. 

Since that night, she hadn't felt anything reminiscent of energy. She didn't even care if it was fear blocking the empty void of tasteless food and gray walls, the city had somehow made her feel alive. The grime all over the filthy walls, the dark skyline drenched in rain, she breathed it in and relished it like home. 

And she didn't have to wait very long till she wasn't alone.

The flap of his cape in the wind gave him away, she heard it over the noises of the city, above the midnight traffic and the bystanders walking by. It was like a flag, billowing it's colors in the sky, only there was no color coming from the source. There was no other sound to indicate that the man had dropped down and was now next to her in the all too atramentous ally, but she knew he was there. She always knew.

"You know, Batman." The name sounded strange in her mouth. "I don't think the cape is necessary."

She turned around and gazed up at his cad-in-black figure that was peering down at her with masked eyes. The whites of his mask were slit, as if he were glaring at her. He was glaring at her with the same glare they had shared. She let a small grin infect her lips in the finality of that thought, it was the glare he had taught her.

"It serves it's purpose" He responded in a gruff manner, through that she couldn't tell if it was amusement or vexation. 

"Oh yeah mister wise guy, and what purpose would that be?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Nothing that you need to know." He replied again, and that was definite anger laced into the tone. She held up her hands in surrender.

"Alright then, definitely not here for small talk are we?" All he did was purse his lips in reply.

"No, you want to know what I am doing here. So casually displaying my whims to you, playing my cards in an illusion so it may seem like a magic trick." She stepped closer to his form allowing him to see her eyes that were lined with red. "But you were never that difficult to understand B, neither am I."

"Then tell me, who are we?" He questioned in the same indifferent tone.

"I'm a daughter of logic, who thrives in danger and holds herself in a false light." She began, poking his chest. "You're a rich kid with issues, that can never stop trying to solve the puzzle. Even when there was never any pieces."  

When she looked back up into his the white slits, it seemed like he was staring through her. She pursed her lips.

"And most of all?" She found herself continuing. "Despite what we can do and what we've done. You and me are both human."

"Half human." Was all he said after a moment of silence.

She just sighed.

_\---FLASHBACK---_

_She watched with morbid fascination as the new recruit for the Hermes cabin stuck his finger into his nose._

_He was at least two years older than her, around ten. But through the five minuets she had been analyzing him he had done this action four times, and she was stumped by someone she had initially thought to be a child of Athena. As he ran through the woods entering the camp the day before, the grayish blue eyes and golden yellow hair had given her hope that she would have a new brother. Now, as she stared at him picking through his own bodily fluids, she would rather be disowned._

_The Athena table was becoming less crowded, through a time of peace and quiet over the winter months. The whole camp was not as barren as a siberian countryside, but no less freezing. Her cabin mates, huddled up along the table conversing idly, and she who could not keep from staring at the ten year old picking his nose._

_She wanted to slam her head upon the table in retribution, in listlessness. It had been weeks since she had taken up anything truly interesting, something not of planning out the next capture the flag routine. The only person who had made her life interesting as of fault had left for christmas with his butler. He said it was important to him, to be there. She didn't have the will to tell him she would rather clean the dishes with the harpies for the next month than have him leave._

_The rest of the campers breathed in close to the campfire as the night went on, like always. The fire was warm and bright as the rest of the campers were cuddled up in their coats, signing ridiculous songs. She reached out and let the fire heat up the frozen frozen fingertips on the end of her hand._

_Tomorrow was Christmas eve, and she was fully aware of the fact that she would be celebrating it without anyone who truly mattered. The other children of Athena all surrounded her, laughing and singing along enjoying the holiday, but she felt disconnected, on a whole other plan of existence. Everyone else was laughing, but she didn't feel like laughing._

_Why would she laugh? She hadn't even heard the joke. She heard the singing, but was not in any way compelled to join in. To be honest, the whole idea of christmas seemed like a joke. They worshiped the gods each night, yet worshiped the birth of another pantheon. To be honest the holiday only ever brought her monotonous feeling of dread._

_So she got up off the bench and left the campfire without a word, no one noticed she was gone, she didn't really think anyone cared. She walked in the murky torch lit air silently until she was pulling the door to her silver cabin open and walking inside. She pulled a pouch from under her mattress and opened the zipper slowly to find a single golden drachma perched lonely in the corner._

_She frowned before taking a flashlight and shining it through a prism and a pane of glass. A  variant or colors reflected off the glass and she graced her fingers off of them before standing back._

_"O' Goddess please accept my offering." Before tossing it into the rainbow. It disappeared.._

_"Show me Bruce Wayne. Gotham City, New Jersey."_

_Then she was staring at him, dressed in his night clothes in the living room of his manor. As the image came into into existence it took a moment for him to realize what was going on. She had caught him thinking, gazing to the ceiling and grimacing as if he wondered if doing nothing could solve all his problems._

_When he did finally see her, or in this case realize she was existing in mist in front of him, his eyes lit up with their usual sky blue. He seem much less interested in his previous thoughts as he jumped up from the couch and came closer to the image, a bright grin plastered on his face. At least he was happy that she had appeared close to midnight inside the confines of his home._

_"Anne, you have no idea how much of a life saver you are." He rushed out and her eyes widened._

_"I-I am?" The layer of confusion was thick in her voice._

_"Yeah..." His brightness seemed to damper and she felt something inside of her twist at the thought that maybe Bruce hadn't been too pleased to have not seen her in over a month._

_"Sorry I hadn't contacted you sooner, camp doesn't really isn't the same without you there." Her eyes shifted to the ground, looking anywhere but the image she had been longing to see for a while._

_"Yes, I have found the manor to be quite objectionable after so much time interacting with other children." The reply was disheartened at best._

_"I have found the camp to be quite objectionable after so much time spent with only one person. There's no distractions other than our old friend Plato." She said mirroring his distaste. Bruce snorted._

_"I thought you would be thoroughly distracted from those psychology books you found."_

_"Are you kidding? I finished them all in four days!" Bruce was laughing at that revelation._

_"I don't even want to know how many times you've read the odyssey."_

_"To be honest, I lost count after 47."_

_They stared at each other for a moment before losing it. It wasn't lighthearted sounds, no it was ugly hog-like sounds accompanied by intermediates of gasps for breath. It was ugly, but she would be lying if right then and there t wasn't one of best feelings in the world._

_"I miss you Bruce..." She breathed after they had both caught their breaths._

_"I know Queen Keen, and to be honest I don't want to spend another christmas alone in an empty house." Her breath caught in her throat._

_"You mean-" He cut her off._

_"Yes, do you want to?" He asked._

_"The last time I wanted to do something so much you had just shown me blueprints of the Pantheon." They both wore matching grins at that, the memory of a little girl nearly screaming with joy resurfacing in their minds._

_"Well we're only human Anne, we feel emotions and localise the people in our life like the rest."_

_"Half human."_

_\---FLASHBACK OVER---_

It was further into the night that she had brought him back to one of the many abandoned buildings in Gotham. It looked like anyone would expect, complete with rust and the musky stench of mold. It served it's purpose though, she supposed. She would be the last person to complain about finding a good warehouse.

She could feel the tautness in the night air, and by the looks of it, the stiff armored man across from her looked like he would rather be anywhere else than out in the open, under the uncomplimentary lighting. This needed to happen though, for any of this to work. If any of the years they had spent attached at the hip meant anything, then what he did in that little cave under his manor concerned her to the highest degree.

She wasn't what any one person would call obtuse, but she couldn't help but feel that with the silence that engulfed them, the conversation was going nowhere. All it needed was a little push.

"To be honest, you don't owe me any explanations. I wasn't a part of your life anymore, you had no obligation to tell me. I didn't come here for any kind of apology, or any sort of story, but I just need to know if we trust each other." Her voice came out stiffer than he meant it to be.

"I've always trusted you." Was his reply, that was it. One day she swore to smack him for his lack of tone, he was quite frustrating to understand.

"This threat daunts me, I won't lie. I know that you've taken on so much more, so have I, but I had some sort of knowledge over the thing I was fighting. With this i'm going in blind, I have no idea who they are even though they have made their intentions very clear." She made a frustrated noise.

"The riddle they gave you, do you know what it means?" he asked.

"Of course I have, I knew the minute I read it." She folded her arms. "They want to meet in Gotham's first public library on the Fall Equinox."

"And the last line, 'That is where you lose it all'?" She shifted in her stance.

"That line remains unclear, but I have come to the conclusion that it may mean death."

That was the comment that made her hairs stand up on end as silence engulfed them, with only the sounds of the city reaching their ears. It finally sounded real as she said it, no longer that myth and fantasy she had been fighting in her mind but a real group potentially gathering her head onto a pedestal.

"That's not going to happen." And he said it with so much belief and determination she almost wanted to believe him.

Death hadn't scared her before, she wasn't going to start now. She may not have a demigod army at her side, a shed full of weapons other than a knife, or even the youth she had 7 years ago, but quite frankly she didn't give a mildly disturbed harpy. She had herself and she prayed to the gods that that was enough.

They may have planned on continuing the conversation, may have actually done it, but they both went stiff as a scream erupted from a place not far from where they stood. She knew that a man with a superhero complex was not going to let anything slip through his fingers, no matter who it was that stood in front of him. So a he made eye contact and they had a moment of apology before she whispered 'go' to herself. 

She didn't watch him leave.

_\---FLASHBACK---_

_When she woke up on christmas morning, the first thing she thought was that it was way too dark out to be physically compelling in getting up. The window curtains were closed and the room was shrouded in a cloud of darkness. It was all a little to monochromatic to be normal and her heart thrummed faster as she realized this._

_It took her a moment to realize that this was not her cabin, another moment to remember where she was. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight in bed._

_Only moments later was she pulling Bruce downstairs towards a massive Christmas tree, grinning brightly as he wiped the crust from his eyes._

_"It's 6am in the morning Anne, I thought you said you didn't like Christmas." The tone was joking, but she pouted in response._

_It was something she had always done, no matter what else had happened. She loved Christmas trees in the early morning of the day when they began to mean something, the multi colored lights dancing in her grey eyes. Her father had always told her that Christmas  wasn't about the things you had received, even the things you had given. Christmas was about family, sharing their moments of happiness on the day where nothing else mattered._

_She got onto her knees and pulled out a small box from under  the lights, the one she had slipped there as she had arrived. A simple blue paper and stick on ribbon, the one she had planned to give him as he returned to camp when christmas had gone. She stood and walked back to him shyly, handing him the package without a word._

_He eyed it in what she figured was surprise, running his fingers down the side slowly and turning it in his hand._

_"Open it." His head snapped back up and his mouth opened as if he wanted to respond, but he promptly closed it._

_His fingers turned to the edge of the package, pulling at the edge where tape held it together. A few moments accompanied by a noise of tearing wrapping paper, and he held a small grey box that he was opening on a moment's notice. She grinned as he pulled out two pendants in the shape of an owl._

_She plucked one from her hand and attached it to her night shirt, him doing the same._

_"Now we match."_

_She rushed to him and wrapped her hands around his mid waist, squeezing the life out of him with all the strength she could muster. Feeling the warmth coming from him, she never wanted to let go._

_"Merry Christmas Bruce."_

_"Merry Christmas Anne."_

_\---FLASHBACK OVER---_

As she entered through the door to her bedroom, she made no delays in collapsing onto the velvet comforter with no inch of grace. The blankets consumed her, and she had almost broke into laughter. That could have been one of the most arduous activities she has ever done, and all it was, was a conversation. She had fought giants, was dragged through hell, and her chest was caught up in her throat from a simple conversation?

Her pulse had been thrumming with every word that glided out of her mouth. At this point she no longer cared whether it was fear. All she knew was that, with the sole prospect of being around someone who was a fighter, a fire burned in her veins that she hadn't felt for a while. She wanted nothing more than to spend the night watching him chase the edge of the skyline from one rooftop to the next.  

Her dreams that night were vivid, colorful. Most importantly, they were dreams and not the gray nightmares that woke her up in a cold sweat. To her, it didn't matter if Bruce was nothing but a man in a suit coming close to being killed. He was real, he was there.  He promised.

_"Thank you for being my brother." She looked up at him close to tears. So she wouldn't have to celebrate Christmas alone._

_"I'm not going anywhere Anne. Promise me that we will always be family, no matter what." He squeezed her tighter._

_"I promise."_   
  
  
  



	10. A Life Of Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Bruce POV. God I reread this book after and cried, I don't know weather to be proud or very very disappointed.

The past is a strange thing.

The past, what they had experienced. And then the past, what they would never dream of holding beneath their fingertips.

Some parts of the past are, for lack of better words, bad. Some parts are better left forgotten in unmarked graves. Some hold onto the past like a lifeline, not treating the things they had experienced like what they really are, the past.

Sometimes the past treats your memories like gold, others like a guillotine that cuts off what makes you, you. Cuts off the parts that made you important, made you like the one in your dreams.

So yeah, the past can be a strange concept. Some can never let go and never forget, some have no problems with shoving it where it came from. But we all came from the past, the choices we made and paths we followed shaped the present, the present shaping the future. So the past is potentially one of the most important things, yet it is treated as a distant memory, a recollection of what once was and not what could have been.

Past.

Good, old, detached, past.

Only, he couldn't leave the past well enough alone.

The night was blue. It was near midnight with the stars hidden behind ominous clouds and the lights of skyscrapers dampening the burning suns lights that resembled holes in a canvas. But the night was blue, felt blue if you could feel a colour. Most of the time it was the incandescent lights against the concrete and drops of blood the mixed in with rain, hidden in the charcoal folds of his suit. Not this night though, it felt different, but not exactly better.

It was also quiet. Not completely, no the city was never quiet, but there was no major crime and that unsettled something inside him. He had saved a woman and her child from a pitiful street thug that had pulled a knife on her, leaving him tied to the door of the Gotham city police department as a present for the commissioner. There was a minor drug deal in the shadows of some forgotten ally in the downtown slums. Then, that was all, that concluded the action for the night.

Sure, no major crimes committed by over glorified villains. It was quiet, quiet never meant anything good. Quiet meant planning, silent moves that wouldn't catch your eye across the chessboard. Quiet meant something was coming and people had boarded up their doors from paranoia in the silence.

All he could do was wait for the inevitable fallout.

Fallout. The adverse side effects or results of a situation. Used to describe the consequence of a nuclear incident as the surrounding area becomes radioactive for thousands of years. It was not exactly something he was looking forward to.

It would blow up anyway, unless he could figure out why everyone seemed to bite their tongues and hold their breath in the presence of a invisible source. Well invisible to him. There was someone he loathed asking, but someone that always knew what was running through the minds of he Gotham underworld.

The Ghost King. An undercover operative in the hit-list business that still killed people for the right reasons when he thought no one was looking. Though he thought you could never kill someone for the right reasons and that The Ghost King deserved a One track ticket to Arkham. He was left to turning a blind eye when he found out what he actually did, and the amount of connections he had obtained.

That and he stopped a human trafficking operation single handily, not something that was easy. Not to mention he still knew nothing about him other than him name, it was like he never existed.

So he sat in front of the computer, eyes raking over the large console hesitantly. It did no good hesitating, he was going to do what he was going to do, weather or not it be consorting with know criminals to receive information.

His fingers danced over the keys before typing in the code to connect to the secure line. It was simple hacking to keep any other programs out of his system as he connected to it. Not that the defenses in the higher-than-military-grade computer would let anything get past its walls, but you never knew what was hiding in the hidden pieces of code.

And he was in, opened up in a message chat room. His fingers ghosted over the keys in a moments hesitation before typing out the message.

_Awfully quiet out there. -B_

The response only came moments away, faster than he would have expected.

_Who talks about the elephant in the room? -GK_

 

So he did know, not that surprising to be honest.

 

 

_Hopefully, you. -B_

 

 

_I'm not that easy, not when Horton has such big ears. -GK_

 

 

Was he...scared of them? He doubted but he could tell that something unsettled him.

 

 

_You know mine are better -B_

 

 

_That may be true, but you're too blind. -GK_

 

 

He clenched his teeth.

 

 

_What's coming through my city? -B_

 

 

_The city was never really yours, not really, not when they were just sleeping. -GK_

 

 

_Who? -B_

 

 

_It doesn't matter, they are already awake and you and everyone that you love are going to suffer for it. -GK_

 

 

_Over my decaying carcass. -B_

 

 

_You're getting warmer. -GK_

 

 

_What's their game? -B_

 

 

_They thrive in manipulation, love the way that they put fear into the darkest minds, but they have the firepower to back it up. -GK_

 

 

_Who. Are. They. -B_

 

 

_I'd love to help you, but you see they really hate_ _you_ _for some reason, both of you. I'd rather not get caught with my hand in a cookie jar. -GK_

 

 

That made him stop typing for a moment. Both of me?

 

 

_You fear them? -B_

 

 

_I would never fear death, but death would be a mercy to what they have planned. -GK_

 

 

_So help me stop it. All I need is the name. -B_

 

 

_You know the name, from what I heard they used to sing it as a song that chilled your children's bones. -GK_

 

 

He couldn't mean-

 

 

_What do they want of me? -B_

 

 

_Your head on a silver platter, and believe me they always get what they came for. -GK_

 

 

_Ghost King has disconnected._

 

 

He took a strong breath, holding it deep in his chest for a few moments.

 

 

The Court Of Owls.

 

 

It was only a story that people told their children to make them behave. _Don't speak a whispered word of them or else the talon will come after while you sleep._ It wasn't suppose to be real. It was a tall tale told to scare children like the boogeyman, the monsters in their closet. He stopped believing in them since he found the monsters were real, but they weren't hiding under the bed.

  
He knew that fear wasn't always a terrible thing, and that if you overcame it you left a better man. But this was different, the fear was different. Something inside of him jumped at the slightest hiss of a bat. He was always paranoid, it would be stupid not to be, but this got under his skin and sank it's teeth into his bone. Then it was the thought that ran across his mind, that if he left it all behind that maybe he didn't have to fight what was a goddamn fairytale. And that scarred him in itself, the thought of running away from a fight when they were attacking everything that was important to him.

Ghost King had told him that they run in fear, in panic. He was right, and that even the great persona of Batman was weakened from a blow that was only their name and agenda, which was taking him down. Maybe it was only the subject of fairytales that got under his skin, perhaps it hit close to home. He had tried so hard to forget that part of his past, and he would be damned if he ever called that cesspool of delinquents and heroes with daddy issues his home. All he learned there was that the rest of his family was the definition of messed in the head.

Except her, she was young and she still stood strong against her fears. She was the only person who had anything nice to say to him and the only person he would ever regret leaving. But seeing her again, it rummaged up a lot of things that he didn't want to remember. Things that he had put behind him and made to forget about. They didn't like that he was different, but he would come to find that it was inescapable, no one would like that he was different. But then again no one cared either, but it was her that took notice to his different and cared anyway.

Beautiful, yet painful. Painful in how much of a clueless child he had been with what she drove from her heart.

_\---FLASHBACK---_

_Summers on long island, he found, were not something he was pleased with. It went passed the 'shall I compare thee to a summers day?'. No it was sweltering, his sweat was sweating. The whole camp was out training to be soldiers, warriors. He wanted to be able to defend himself against what was out there, but it also felt to wrong. He was about as good with a sword as he could be, it was ok, but it felt wrong to be in his hands._

_No scratch that, the entire camp felt wrong._

_It was different from school, yes, of course it was they had horses with wings. It wasn't the different he wanted. He didn't like the people around him, he wasn't meant to play playground with the other kids. They taught him how to shoot an arrow and throw knives, and they wanted him to feel like he was in this giant family. When all he felt was the urge to leave and take his chances to train with someone who he knew wouldn't put him in the standard of a social hierarchy. Then again, that was the same person who thought this would be good for him. Good for him to learn and be around people like him._

_Except these people both did not like him and were not like him. They shared the same blood, but gods did they not share the same mind._

_All but her. He couldn't get that girl out of his heart if he tried._

_He let the knife fly out of his fingers, calculating the amount of pressure he released behind it. The target was twenty meters away and then he added wind resistance into the equation, the weight of the knife and the volume. With that he new that the knife wasn't going to even hit the target before it hit the ground. He was still working on the aim, and it didn't really help that he read 4 books on the laws and theories of knife throwing and aerodynamics. By this point he could, theoretically, write his own book on the laws and theories of knife throwing and aerodynamics before he actually hit the target._

_Then the person next to him hit dead center on the bull's-eye and all he could do was stare._

_"It's in the wrist you know." A voice piped up behind him causing him to almost drop the knife him his hand. A voice he couldn't forget with it's smooth, calm undertone._

_"Annabeth." He responded in greeting._

_"As much as it pains me to say this, books only get you so far. You know it was you who told me that it's not childish to ask for help-"_

_"-but don't cry wolf, yeah I know." He took another shot at the target. At least it was an effort._

_Her eyebrows were raised, in a look of 'Are you expressing frustration or are you trying to prove my point.' She walked up to the station, grabbing a knife in her hand and shooting him a look. He held his hand up in surrender and backed away from the station. She flipped it in her hand once before logging at the target from her small but strong stance. It hit dead on._

_He bit his lip, he had just gotten beaten, badly._

_"In the wrist" She repeated._

_"How did you-"_

_"I asked. You could chose to do the same instead of isolating yourself for a point." She enunciated the 'T' on point as she moved closer._

_"I don't-"_

_"Yes you do." She poked him in the chest. "Throw from there, not in your mind you have to feel it. Don't detach yourself because, yes, it really is you throwing the knife."_

_"Your reasoning seems flawed and untested." She glared up at him as she blew a stray stand of hair from her face._

_"To be fair, so are most attempts at the scientific method." She shoved another knife into his hand quite dangerously and turned on her heel, leaving him._

_"Throw from my heart." He parodied disbelievingly._

_"And turn you wrist thirty degrees to the left!" She shouted back at him and he grinned._

_He took the knife in his and, heading her directions and throwing at the board with the final piece of the equation. At least it hit the board._

_\---FLASHBACKOVER---_

He jumped as the ringing of a phone broke his thoughts, he had gone to deep inside his own mind, which was something he never wanted to do. Not all of it was as pleasant as knife throwing. Only a few people knew his number on a private cell line, it was heavily encrypted and only those who had the number which were preprogramed ones in his phone were let through. The ones he trusted with his life.

The caller I.D. showed the face of the one and only that had been occupying his thoughts. Finger swiping against the screen faster that he would ever admit.

"Annabeth?" He asked, he could hear heavy breathing on the other line that was otherwise silent. Not exactly a good sign.

"Y-you said to call," Her voice was stiff and closed of, like she was trying to keep her self together. "if anything happened."

"Anna-"

"They left a message for me. It wasn't there when I fell asleep. B they were in my room." She was panicked.

"I'll be there in a moment. Are you-"

"Don't bother, there already gone." Her tone seemed to empty out.

"The note, what does it say?" He questioned softly.

"It's carved into t-the wall. " She breathed in shakily. "They'll send the Talon for you head."

"Are you okay." His voice was tired above anything.

"Fine." The line went silent for a moment before he heard a loud bang.

"Annabeth! What's wrong?" He interrogated.

"It's written in blood, the smell, oh gods." Her voice was barely above a whisper, choking up at the end of her own words.

"I'll be there in 10. Your not safe there." He heard a noise of indignation.

"I'm going to be fine it's-"

"End of discussion." He snapped and she went quiet.

"Just don't hang up...."She pleaded softly.

"Annabeth?"

"Yeah?"

"What is written in blood?" He heard her swallow, and after a moment.

"You will soon come to regret the only thing that made you great."

He no longer felt like running, no all that was underneath his skin was fire. Whoever the Court Of Owls were, they wouldn't be for long.


	11. A Raging Thunderstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Symbolism for the win!

As a young girl, storms had always unsettled her. It was something she would never admit out loud, or maybe even to herself, but as those all too familiar darkened clouds rolled in a heavy weight had settled upon her chest.

Storms meant a lot of different things for a lot of different people. When people were desperate for the slightest amount of water falling from the sky, they would create elaborate dances to appease their gods. For some, storms meant death and destruction. The falling of what they loved to the wind and rain. And to others, a storm meant rebirth. Like Noah and the Ark, a cleansing, a new beginning and fresh start. There was always going to be a rainbow after the hardship and all who could view it would marvel at the beauty.

She didn't have any of that though. For her, storms symbolized anger. This ominous foreboding of something that was bound to go wrong. Then she would think that someone was angry with what she had done and they had all the power to wipe her from the pedestal and have her on the ground begging for forgiveness. They always felt too full of rage, so harsh and brutal. Only after she learned who she really was did she understand that the god of storms was someone who embodied all of these premonitions.

Them she mirrored it, and every time the rain fell upon her, she felt the upmost anger. It reminded her of how she was never going to be in control of who she was and what she would do. They made her feel like a caged animal, lashing out and growling at the hand that tried to feed her. She glared at the sky every chance she got.

She didn't feel it now, the anger. It used to boil to hot under her skin, but it vanished along with the cheeky brat who could make them with him mind. No, no all she felt now was cold. The feeling was empty, to barren. She longed for something to lash out at, to fight and win.

The only person she fought with these days happened to share her thoughts, and that was a battle she would never win, no matter how much anger she felt.

At first, after him, the thunder stung. It felt like it was going to strike her down and rip her apart. Those nights alone listening to the sounds of the rain on a cabin rooftop, she felt so hopeless, if that was the right word. It was the understanding that the lightning could strike her down and she wouldn't even care. So yeah, it hurt, and then it healed. Healing. Hey, and maybe she was weak for being to damn broken. Maybe, it was so stupid that she tensed when the sky cracked down. To be scared of the rain.

No, not fear. It was remorse. She still felt the anger and lack of control of her life, how unfair it was but how useless it was to scream obscenities when no one can hear them. And then she felt the remorse, the feeling that she would never be able to look at a storm again without seeing smiling green eyes.

It was raining now. It always rained in Gotham. The city was a cesspool for crime and death, of course the sky was always overcast and the streets wet with last nights sky melting onto the earth. Maybe that's why she liked it hear, because all it brought to her was a dull ache where a scar was left on something other than skin, and that was better than the nothing she was getting to used to feeling.

It rained on the night he died. Big, fat drops of rain that she could still feel on her skin, the kind that blinded you covered every inch of your body till you shivered and shook. The kind that stung and mixed in with the tears that streamed down your face. The kind of rain that filled your ears till all you heard was downpour and the crack of the sky like a whip cracking down on your. The kind that drowned out your own sobs, all of the world falling deaf upon your ears.

Rain that somehow didn't wash the blood off her hand as it trailed down her-

"No, no, no. Don't you dare go there." She whispered, shutting her eyes painfully tight. Hoping that the world would have gone away by the time that she opened them.

Or that the blood would magically wash away from the wall. That would have been good too.

She tried to control the breaths that had become to come out in rapid pants, she would very much not like to have another nervous breakdown. Now that the shock had passes, the frantic tears drying on her face had left her eyes swollen and red, and her body ached along with her mind. She really had gotten too weak, when had ominous messages made her break into hysterics. Though, the fact that they were written in blood may have been a deal breaker, and that they had broke into the hotel room while she slept. The fact that they watched her so closely always made her shiver. How the hell was she supposed to fight them if she didn't exactly know who 'them' was?

Her head snapped to the side as she heard a floor tile creak right behind the bed. Faster then she was thinking, she had the knife she kept under the pillow in her hand and pointed at the intruder. Bruce, standing stoic and in costume. Her arms dropped back the side and she opened her mouth in a silent apology.

"You know, a knife is sort of useless if the intruder has a gun." He inquired with a longing look that he somehow managed behind his domino mask. She scoffed.

"Are you underestimating my abilities bother? If I remember correctly is was me who taught you how to throw knifes. You were a bit hopeless in technique." His cheek lifted ever so slightly and her eyes became downcast. "Besides, guns were never really my thing."

"Well I can get behind you in that." They fell into silence.

She turned her head to stare back out the window, the feeling of something crawling in her skin wouldn't disappear, no matter how much she denied that she ever felt it. I stayed there, a constant reminder that she was probably never going to be safe again. But who was she kidding, when has her life ever been safe?

"Do you remember that one time?" She began. "The gods were angry and it started thundering so hard.." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You couldn't sleep." He supplied.

"I hate storms, they remind me of how much power I really have over my life. But yeah, I couldn't sleep, I kept having dreams about a giant skyscraper fallen into ruins. People were screaming, crying. I was just standing there, looking up at the carnage while it fell, while black smoke billowed out the top." She continued.

"I never knew that."

"I never told you." She went silent again.

"You told me a story. I thought I was too old for something like that, but the story you told really did help. You told me that there was line, between what was good and evil, but it's up to no one man to decipher it. You said that sometimes things aren't fair, and that when people do try and make sense of this line, it becomes warped and corrupt. If it was really bad to have revenge, then why was the drive programmed into us so? Who was to judge who got to die? Who was really innocent?" She wiped away a tear she didn't know was falling.

"Then you said something I've never forgotten, about monsters. We fight them, because they hate us and try to kill us. We fight them, but who decided they were really monsters. I've seen the Minotaur, but was it really evil? Or was it made that way when it was cursed out for its monstrous looks. You said that there is always a reason that someone is the way they are, or their not who you think they are."

"I remember." He said after a few moments. "Who do think they are?" He pointed to the wall where the message was written in blood.

Who were they? Why did they want her? Those questions never stopped running through her head, never stopped driving her mad.

"Honestly?" She sighed. "I have no idea."

"I do." Her head snapped up.

"You do?"

"I want to show you something."

That's how she ended up in the Batmobile. She could feel the car vibrating beneath her fingertips, but it didn't make a sound. She felt like grinning, like the car going 100 miles per hour would solve all of her problems. Oh how she wished.

"Did you build this?" She asked in childlike awe.

"No, a good friend of mine did, brilliant." He replied. They zoomed along the backstreets of Gotham, through allies and blacked out streets. Then they came to a country looking road heading straight for a water fall.

How the heck did he come up with that?

And then they stopped inside and she thought it was Christmas.

"You just have all the toys, don't you." She breathed. A little bit giddy.

There were countless pieces of technology on shelves and cases with suits inside them. She was afraid to ask why there was a dinosaur off to the side. Not to mention the fact that this place was an actual bat cave, smelling wet and damp, filled with the small screeches of the mammals in the near distance.

"Leave it up to you to make your hide out an actual bat cave, I should have expected nothing less." She felt a strange laugh in her chest that too much resembled a giggle as he glared at her halfheartedly.

He introduced her to a desktop to end all desktops. It had so many buttons, her head spun, but all at the same time, it made her want to know what every single button led to. In front of the console was a large screen depicting the commands, a file pulled up of a man.

"Who is that?" She found herself asking.

"A man, he died last night." Then he turned to stare at her, for a second she almost felt a sense of foreboding. "He was admitted to a mental health facility a couple weeks ago, I found this while investigating our problem. He had lost his mind, screaming on the top of his lungs about how the owls were coming. That man owns half of Gotham's downtown area."

"So what are you saying?" She squinted at him. "That this is some sort of power play. Take out all the heavy hitters and topple the power structure? To take over?"

"It would explain why they came after you." With the look he gave her, she could tell that if he wasn't so stoic, he would be wringing his hands.

"Well if your right, this isn't going to be fun, for any of us. What order this city has will be erupted into chaos." She felt like she was speaking to fast than what could be interpreted as not worried.

"You'll be protected, that's for sure." He added, as a quiet afterthought. She squeezed his shoulder.

"If we are right." She leaned forward against the console. "Than I hardly think I'll be the one who needs protecting."

"I'm not a child, I can't take care of myself." He huffed out indignantly.

"So can I, but that doesn't mean we should. I have a feeling this is not a matter to take lightly. We work together Bats." He went silent.

"It's too dangerous. You could get hurt." Was his half assed argument, she wasn't even sure if he was trying.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"A bad argument, but unfortunately, a true one." He sighed.

"Every day of my life has been dangerous, this little escapade is no exception."

Silence, and then-

"Your going to need a suit."

Outside, lighting cracked.

 


	12. A Ghost On Midnight Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry for all the spelling mistakes, but I'm really not.

A man once said, of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.

There were always ghosts, in our past, our lives living and there was always going to be a reminder of what was and what could never have been. Having ghosts trail at your feet wasn't new, wasn't a belittling humanization, they all had ghost, some more than others. 

 

They drag at your feet and way you down, pulling at the threads till they unravel and come apart at the seems. Sometimes others stitch your holes, glue you back together, sometimes your left forgotten on a shelf, never to be remembered because the effort wouldn't be worth the pain. Either way, the way you come out of it, your never the same. They can see the frayed edges where you were ripped and the jagged lines as you cracked as beautifully as porcelain. 

 

Ghosts were normal, but they often never brought anything other than nostalgic suffering. 

 

She had too many ghosts, they followed her even as she made her escape from the thresholds of insanity in a mad dash to leave her past behind her. They clung tenaciously to her skin in the form of old memories and simple reminders of just how many ghosts she was running from. 

 

Then, there was the one ghost that she knew would always be there, waiting for her to crash and burn to cause chaos upon her. The everlasting son of Poseidon that still haunted her after so many months. After all the death and the pain, the regret of letting normal catch her in its claws made a pit of regret deeper than you can drill into the crust. It felt like the universe laughed as it carved the word 'happy' into her ribs. 

 

But those kind of ghosts were the ones that no one had domain over.

 

_Creak._

 

She sat up in bed, the heavy comforter falling down to her waist and erupting the field of warmth. It was faint but she heard it, the creak of a tile was unmistakable. Her muscles tensed and her jaw clenched, rigid and unmoving. They must have been coming for her, the court. She could feel her nails dig into her palm painfully, her heart taking on the familiar thud in her ears. 

 

Without a sound, she got up from the bed and flew across the wood tile with lithesome grace. She refused to be the dumb blonde woman from horror movies who was killed in the first five minuets. She waited by the door, listening, watching, barely breathing to accommodate her other senses. The method was futile, all she viewed was the empty hall bathed in light and the sound of her own heartbeat. 

 

Maybe she had been mistaken, the house was old and the foundation, though secure, sat upon an open cave that would bound to compromise the structural integrity at some point. It was cold along with windy outside as well, the temperature difference between the outside and the inside was bound to have an effect on the houses pressure, similar to an imploding can. 

 

Old houses made creepy noises. It was one of the only  feasible explanations besides someone was up and about, which would exactly be strange due to the living circumstances, or someone was inside the house that shouldn't be and she was about to be attacked. 

 

But the house also had security and ever paranoid defenses to the point where a god wouldn't be able to enter. She had heard one tiny creak of a tile and assumed that she was most likely going to die, that had to be due to how sad her little life was. 

 

There was no way to be sure though, whether someone had magically gotten inside, which was a genuine option, or she was being obsessively anxious. Either way, she wasn't going to sleep, that's what people in horror movies do, and they die. So she sat in the middle of he room, wide eyed and awake. She doubted she was ever going to sleep anyway, not with the amount of anxiety that had already begun to suffocate her that night. The feeling of emptiness in such a large room.

 

She knew she was safe though, she was safe with Bruce. He was the gods-damn Batman, of course he knew what he was doing.  She repeated that in her head a couple of times, for the sake of her beating heart.

 

And then- _Creak._

 

She shot up to her feet and dragged the dagger that rested beneath her pillow, swinging the door open and staring out into the hall, _the empty hall._ It was infuriating, the aggravation of not knowing what the hell was out there. Not knowing which ghosts lurked in the corner. Not _knowing._

 

"Miss Chase, I must ask what you are doing up at this hour." Alfred's voice cut into the defending silence and she nearly vaulted out of her skin because _she had almost attacked Bruce's butler._

 

She dropped the knife, it landed with and all knowing clatter on the floor, not wanting to further in her idiocy. She could feel her heart clam down, her shoulders slumping in relief.

 

"I am so sorry Alfred, I apologize if I woke you." Her lips tightened, her eyes unable to look at him. "I had believed that I heard someone and am reluctant to disclose that I was frightened."

 

"Understandably so." Alfred responded with nothing but a kind smile. "I have lived with Master Wayne for the entirety of his life, I have become accustomed to his tendencies of paranoia." 

 

"Yes, we both are aware of Bruce's paranoia. He had me tested to make sure I wasn't a clone." She gave a small huff. Alfred shook his head fondly. 

 

"I must admit he has reason for his actions. Master Wayne has had quite the life as you have Miss Chase." He grabbed her hand in his, his gloved fingers tracing the scars along her knuckles. "I don't believe that there is any danger at this moment. You have been traumatized by this organization, enveloped in the fear and trepidation they require of you. Falling into their games in unwise. You are safe here Miss Chase, get some rest."

 

She opened her mouth to find that she really didn't have a response, he wasn't wrong but simply forgetting about the constant threat of death holding over her head was more difficult than he had made it seem. 

 

Sleep though, sleep seemed like a good place to start. 

 

She laid in the middle of the bed staring at the ceiling till she had forgotten why she was keeping her eyes open and darkness enveloped her. _She was safe._

 

\--- _FLASHBACK---_

 

_"Why would she leave me?" She asked, her voice cracking._

 

_"She didn't leave, not really." Bruce replied, crouching down beside her on the bunk._

 

_"What do you call dying? Taking an all expense paid vacation? She let them kill her and left me?" She huffed closing her eyes to hide the tears in her eyes._

 

_She knew that the incessant like questioning was close as she could get to a tantrum. She couldn't find it in herself care if she was acting like a child, she was eight, she could be as scornful as she wished._

 

_"There is a difference between leaving and dying. Dying is permanent, absolute and without choice, leaving is a decision and can be reversed." He hesitated for a moment before grabbing her shoulder and pulling her into a hug._

 

_He was the brother that she never had, but that didn't make a difference in the fact that she had lost Thalia. And now he was telling her that it was irreversible, finite. Those were things she didn't want to hear. She squirmed out of his loose hold and stood up gripping the bedpost._

 

_"What are you going to do-," She found herself asking hesitantly. "When you find the man?" She didn't need to elaborate on who they were talking about._

 

_He was quiet for a moment, before forcing his face to become emotionless. She hated when he did that, it was a stupid thing to ask, but she needed to know._

 

_"I want to kill him." He started out low. ".....but I suppose that was never really up to me to decide. Revenge isn't what I'm aiming at. I just want...justice." His mouth twisted into a grimace._

 

_"I just wish that there was some way to input the variables and create a solution." Her blonde curls fell over her face as she dropped her beneath her shoulders._

 

_"A good decision is based on knowledge and not on numbers." He responded, she groaned._

 

_"Quoting Plato? Really? Now?" She scoffed indignantly._

 

_"It seemed to be in correct context, and it fits the problem." He retorted, unable to stop a small smile from forming._

 

_"Yes, a solution extorting numerical value from a philosopher, how unbiased." He shrugged. And she muttered- "...at least it wasn't Confucius..."_

 

_"Hey don't insult Confucius just because some of his wonders are basic and self explanatory. The ethical philosophy is groundbreaking and....he's Alfred's favorite." His voice quieted near the end._

 

_"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." She recited, just to make him grin. "Wise words from a fat Chinese man."_

 

_"How about." Bruce said after a moment. "You're not allowed to insult a person until you can spell their name."_

 

_She just scowled. That happened months ago, they agreed never to speak of her embarrassment again. Archimedes was difficult to pronounce thank you very much._

 

_"The worst part, I think, Is the ghost." He whispers solemnly. A complete turn around that felt like being drenched in boiling water._

 

_"What if I choose not to believe in ghosts?" She asked._

 

_"Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil." He quoted once more. "And I don't think you can get rid of them if you tried. The ghosts that follow you are the ones no one had domain over."_

 

_She frowned, that sounded unpleasant._

 

_"How do you make them go away?" She squeaked out._

 

_"The thing is." Bruce looked up into her stormy gray eyes. "Ghosts never leave us for the same reason dying isn't the same as leaving."_

 

_"I can still feel her in the camps barriers, her anger, her hope, her force I-" her voice broke off._

 

_"I know, believe me, I know." Bruce gave her a sad smile as she buried her head into his side._

 

_"I know, and now she keeps us safe."_

 

_\---FLASHBACK OVER---_

 

Sitting idly in the darkness of the cave, she had finally understood the need for eccentricity. The monitor light glowing throughout the seeping shadows, the echo of bat squeaks filling the cavern. Somehow, it made it feel real. She was here, doing this. Being a hero again and fighting for....well survival at his point. 

 

She was all too familiar with that routine, looking over your shoulder even when your alone, especially when your alone. Only this time it wasn't fighting monsters, it was fighting people taken over by their monsters. She knew deep down, there was seldom a difference between the two. What she did know is that the use of her knife will become redundant as it doesn't effect mortals. She had trained with other most other weapons though, still she didn't know what would be the strongest. 

 

What was really sad was the fact she hadn't decided on a name yet. Not that it mattered to her, but apparently it was a 'vital part' of being a superhero. She didn't understand the need for that kind of eccentricity, code names yes, but there was no in making it sound cool.

 

Never mind she took it back, there was all the need. 

 

"There's a robbery in the Bowery. The apartment complex on 6th and 32nd. Police on their way to the scene but it's open if you wanted to check it out." She spoke into her com, listening the the police report. 

 

_"Negative, amateur robbery, unless a death is reported. Police are capable of handling it."_ He replied with and even voice. She nodded to herself.

 

"No injury or altercation is reported." She answered and reviewed more of the information.

 

"There is a 911 call on the Upper West side. Looks like a break in but could become hostile." She informed, and he took a moment of silence.

 

"Address?" He asked.

 

"Sending the coordinates to the bat-mobile immediately." She responded, typing along and pressing multiple buttons on the console because if she had spent two day learning every code and button on the thing, she damn well was going to use it. 

 

"Affirmative, heading to location now." Was all the reply she got. 

 

She leaned back into the chair, stretching out her arms behind her. Awaiting for him to get there. It was really only as boring as you made it. 

 

"Arrived." He finally said and she switched the cowl-cam to the larger screen, watching as he entered the house through the window.

 

"Police ETA is 6 minutes." She said, placing a hand under her chin.

 

The woman had locked herself inside the bathroom, visibly distraught and frightened. It was clear that there was a break in. The couch had been dismantled, appliances strewn across he floor and smashed, glass littered everywhere. She frowned in sympathy, it would take forever to clean up. 

 

The robber was easy to find, he was still in the woman's bedroom, doing what you wouldn't call keeping it low. More like flinging objects that didn't peak his interest across the room and shoving things into a bag. Not even trying to keep it down, idiot.

 

Batman had him knocked out in seconds, tied to a chair for police to find. Leaving with 4 minutes and 36 seconds to spare. She leaned back in the swivel chair again and blew a stray hair out of her eyes.

 

There wasn't anything else at the moment, no reports or murders. Was it bad to want a good murder to solve? She was pretty sure that was indecent but she could embrace her inner sociopath.

 

"Continue patrol route, I'll notify you if something comes up." She spoke into the comm.

 

"Affirmative." No 'thank you Annabeth for you amazing helpfulness', no 'you're the most amazing person in the world'. Though, she guess that it became hard to give compliments once you start beating super humans to a pulp for a living. 

 

He had changed a lot, she could see. He was distant, he used to be so driven emotionally. Now, she didn't see anything in him, he was closed off. He was no longer the caring teen who recited Plato to calm his little sister down, she didn't want to be scribe him as cold, but she didn't have any other words.

 

Well that wasn't necessarily true, she had many words. Isolated, introverted, sociopathic, detached, withdrawn, a ghost...

 

He was a ghost of what he was but only for the reason that he wouldn't let her see who he had become. She knew a little bit about hiding your emotions, being cold and distant, it was safe to say that she disliked that route of action. Bruce was an enigma, a symbol of fear along with justice. He was ingrained so deeply into history and the minds of people in Gotham that no one could even attempt to erase his presence. She couldn't imagine having that sort of pressure behind her, pushing her, shaping her. Unless you counted the expectations of saving the world once of twice. 

 

In the end, Bruce would always be......Bruce. He had changed from what he allowed her to see. But the things underneath, the things that mattered were still there, hidden below his thick skin. 

 

She was jolted out of her thoughts when the computer pinged. Not of the alerts that she had studied for the past two days in preparation for aiding him out in the field sounded like that. None of them _pinged_. That was only the online messaging system...

 

She scrambled to work, opening up the online mail and checking for any hidden bugs and viruses. Not that the system wouldn't automatically run a systems check and scan for any malware, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Then she let herself look at the message. 

 

_-Ghost King has connected.-_

 

_We need to meet -GK_

 

She bit her lip, inner churning on high. Ghost King. Ghost. King. No it was impossible, a coincidence. Though, none of the on-the-grid villains she had researched had gone by that name. It couldn't be him. She let out a breath of stale air she had forgotten she had been holding .

 

In the end, it was better to always ask. So, being the better person, she reached for her comm.

 

"You have a message alert from someone named Ghost King." She notified him in an even, calm voice, hoping to Hades that he couldn't hear her beating heart.

 

"Acknowledged. Content?" He replied evenly. Always the frustration.

 

"He is wanting to meet, displaying it as a necessity." She answered. 

 

"Reply with the location of the warehouse that we talked in." He responded and she debated on asking him. " The time as 0100 hours."

 

"Affirmative." He disconnected and she sighed, doing what he asked. 

 

She was counting on the fact that it was a coincidence, it had to be. 

 

She twirled her knife in her hand as she looked towards a glass case with her costume, still untouched and yet to be worn. 

 

It was always good to check the facts for yourself. 

 


	13. A Shadow Of Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You already know Nico meets Annabeth. I had artwork of Annie's suit. Don't know exactly how to put in on here. Ohwell.

Shadows had hierarchies.

There were shadows that were darkness, the absent of light. With or without a metaphorical presence, those shadows ruled, because they felt more real. You could see shadows slink always and close in after the receding light, you could feel the shadows under you eyes.

Then there are the shadows as in incomplete. When you look at a shadow, there's a outline of what was, or the absence of what is. A shadow of a person who is an echo, with each bounce of sound the original gets distorted, fainter. They fade until you can't see what they once were through the darkness and you can't hear what they say after what they had to say lost its meaning a long time ago.

There was the darkest part of the shadow, the umbra. Then the lighter part, the penumbra. That was the same with shadows in everything, whether talking about the shadow staring at you from the sidewalk, or the depths of your mind that feels darker and colder than an alley.

With all those shadows, lurking around the corner or even inside you, they paled in comparison to him. They bowed down to their king and surrounded him, enveloped him like he was their kin, their master.

With all the shadows lurking around the warehouse, they paled in comparison to Nico di Angelo, the all famed master of the dead.

He still looked so young, he was only three years younger than herself, but it felt like he was still that ten year old boy alone and too full of grief to be living, for so long he had felt like nothing more than a ghost . He looked more alive now than she remembered, his skin was less paler than it was when they were still teens trying to save the world. What a reversal of roles that was, she looked more dead then the master of them all.

She rolled her shoulders, still adjusting to the weight upon them, the costume, or suit. She really didn't care for titles, it served it's purpose. But wearing it, she felt empowered, hidden in the shadows at the edge of the warehouse. She would be surprised if the two didn't know she was there but much more proud of herself.

Batman stood stoic in the middle of the warehouse, cape resting behind him unmoving on his shoulders. His arms were to his sides, his face unmoving. Nothing about his being gave away any of his emotions, his thoughts. He stood like a dark force, static. He was like staring into a forest in the darkness, wonderful, mysterious, dangerous, eerie.

Nico, the long lost to the world son of Hades that stood with his back pressed against the wall with his arms crossed, was irate. When he was younger, after he had lost Bianca, he was so angry at the world, violent. Then he mellowed out as all of the fire and churning anger seemed to transform into bleak listless woe. Then he was happy the last time she had saw him, a few months before Percy died. He still looked angry, like a flashback to when she was fourteen, but it wall mellowed out and filled to the brim with tribulation.

It was like a splash of cold water to the face to see him again, to see him standing there as something like a criminal, like he was back as an outcast blinded by his own darkness. It made sense of why he had come to Gotham, this city was one of crime a death, never a dull moment. This city could be made home but a bad choice for a peaceful life, always fighting something, for most it was their selves. The monsters here were human. You don't come to this city, you win up here.

Nico's hair had grown out from when she last saw him, it curled around his neck and fell freely to his eyes. He needed a hair cut, if he would give her ten minuets with a pair of clippers- she cut that thought off, she shouldn't be thinking about his hair right now, that was hardly important.

She sat there observing them for a few more moment before they decided to end there staring match, she controlled her heartrate to listen.

"You wanted to talk," Batman spoke in a gruff rumble, stepping forward into the light that shone through the window. "Talk."

"Talking to someone is so much easier without actually seeing them." Nico gave a low chuckle and squeezed his balls into fists. "But they aren't watching now."

She found herself stiffening. She had a sneaking suspicion of who _they_ were.

"I was curious about the same thing that you are," Nico continued. "So, me being me, I dug. Me also being who I am, I dug to far."

"What did you find?" The Bat questioned, seemingly more intrigued.

"The court knows a lot less than I do, but they can do a lot more with that information than I can. They don't know who you are, but somehow, you got them to hate both of your identities." Nico sniffed in the cold air. "I killed the talon watching me earlier, the inhuman mindless drones, but I know the court knows who I am and that's very bad."

"How bad?" He asked, shifting.

"They'll be after me, I have to disappear. So this is why I wanted to meet." He pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket. "Reports of all the sightings of the court and accounts of who they are, what they are. Possible affiliations. People who spill tend to be dead the next morning, I would move quickly."

Batman stared at him for a moment, deciphering him. "Why did you do this?"

Nico grinned. "Someone's got to bring these bastards down. I value my life span and you seem hell-bent on killing yourself." He tilted his head. "And your sister is someone I would rather not have in a grave."

Batman stocked toward and grabbed the folder out of his hands, glaring up his form.

"How do you know her?" It came out as a harsh demand.

She felt that she should intervene, giddy to make some noise and surprise them. So, she did.

"He's a friend." She jumped down from the warehouses ledge and to the middle of the two, crouched in a landing.

Nico, for all his expirence, looked confused. He stared at her for a moment before his eyes lit up and rushed forward. She opened her arms and he clutched his limbs around her waist.

"Annie I haven't seen you in so long." She scowled as he said that all the while wrapping her arms around his torso.

"Yeah, and that's why you didn't request to see me before you disappeared. Deathtrap." She spoke the name into the top of his head. _When had he gotten so tall?_

"I didn't know if you knew." He admitted, pulling away. She rolled her eyes behind the goggles.

"I'm me of course I knew." She retorted. His eyes cleared out and his smile lessened.

"How have you been?" He asked, worried almost. She frowned, she should have never gone away from them.

"I've been better, could be worse." Was what she settled on. He seemed ok with that response, but had lingering glances at her eyes.

"Nice costume." He complemented.

"Nice name, _Ghost King."_ He rolled his eyes and stepped back from her, glancing at Batman hesitantly.

"I've got to go, they'll be coming after me. I've got the perfect place to hide to." _The underworld._

"Be careful Neeks." He blinked slowly, concentrating, his eyes went back to me.

"I should be saying that to you."

It started slowly, the gathering of darkness. He closed his eyes and fell back, letting the darkness envelope him into nothingness. Always like him to hide in the shadows.

She stared at the place he had disappeared into the ground, feeling oddly empty. She hadn't talked to him in months, and she had the feeling that the next time wouldn't be soon. He didn't get squeamish at nothing, if he was running then she had the feeling that whatever was coming was not going to be fun.

She tilted her head back to Batman, he had the unreadable expression like always, the ever going analytical persona of emotionless darkness.

"Explain." _Wow, two whole syllables._ She felt like rolling her eyes.

"He's your cousin, big-shot." He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She helped him out.

"You've been gone for a long time." She turned around to face him, hands placed on her hips. "Alot of things happened."

"Son of Hades?" He drawed, his lips thinning.

"Lots of thing happened." She repeated.

"I feel you will need to go futhur into the events, I was given a very brief summary." He glared at her, earning less than a shrug in return.

"I suppose so." She walked past him, beginning to climb the layer that led to the window before looking back briefly. "Lets make that go both ways, yeah?"

She knew she would eventually get his recollection of events from his life out of him, but it would be difficult. Neither of them were actually good with using their words correctly unless they were quoting obscure philosophical ideas. It made a good ploy for a life alone and a dark disposition, but a hard deal for helping people out with their emotional inquiries.

She would deal with all of that thought of scary talks about feelings later. Right now, she had an awesome suit on her back, a suit that had _claw_ s. No right now, she was going to fly.

She shot her grappling hook at the nearest tallest structure and decided for the smallest of moments, despite all past experiences, being a daughter of Zues wouldn't be that bad after all. Then reality seized her and she though better.

The prospect of being airborne for many, for and extended amount of time, is thought of as flight. Wether flying via airplane, with wings or the sorta second cousin Jason, people find it freeing. Being surrounded by air was supposed to be exhilarating, feelings the air pass by you, the sense of weightlessness that made you focus on your heart pounding in your chest. All these things she knew she was supposed to feel as she swung from that building.

All she felt was dread.

She was never meant to fly. She wasn't a bird, a bat. She was supposed to be like an owl, predatory, ruthless and wise. Owls fly.

She sighed inwardly, she was never going to find a name that fit her. It wasn't going to happen. Villains were going to ask the name of there peruser and she was going to have to respond with 'fuck you that's who I am' which wasn't exactly a bad thing, but also she would be missing her chance to have her dramatic reveal moment. That would be disappointing more than anything.

She didn't need a name to fight of evil scum, she really didn't, she didn't even have to come out of the shadows. No one would see her and the Bat would take credit for all of her advances. That's what will happen anyways, so she didn't need a name. No media taking any pictures, no need for one. But on the other hand, _she really needed a name._

It wasn't a necessity to need, but one that you could go up to you self in the mirror and say that you were a named superhero, not just another broken person behind a mask of their own deceit and solitude.

But, it was a lot harder than it looked, she had run out of Latin root for owl or wisdom two nights ago. She was about to resort to looking on Google for cool superhero names. It seemed like the only path to be taken. Go on one of those superhero name generators and look until she found something cool.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, looking down over the city before jumping of the roof top. That dread wasn't going to go away and she knew it. Her time was coming up soon, and she had stuff to do before she died, A Court Of Owls be damned.

\---

Her muscles burned as she pulled herself up again, curling her abdomen in at the end of the one handed pull up. She breathed out and let herself backdown, straight into her arm. She breathed in and did it again before dropping to the floor. Not good enough, she had only gotten twenty seven in before her body quit on her.

She breathed out in something that was more like a sigh before using the back of her hand to wipe the sweat off of her forehead. She pulled the athletic tape from the gym table and begin to wrap her hand meticulously, the warnings of someone she couldn't remember telling her that improper wrappings could result in breaking her knuckles. Then stretched her hand to test the tightness, it was satisfactory.

It was a process that didn't need to be described, hitting a bag with her fists, but oddly relaxing. She blew a stray hair out of her face, partly in annoyance.

"Your impressive." Dick deduced behind her. She punched the bag again, shamelessly imagining it to be his face instead. 

 

"So I've been told." She responded, trying very hard not to growl. Despite all efforts, her face contorted in loathing. 

 

Dick, not taking _any_ hints to get the heck out of dodge, replied with. "And now your a Superhero."

 

She spit out a 'yes' through gritted teeth, punching the bag again. The metal holding it groaned violently in protest to her actions. The bag flopping as if it were fifty pound lighter.

 

"And my aunt." She turned around then, face flush and breathing hard. Glaring.

 

She expected him to look like a shit eating asshole. He was an asshole alright, but not at the moment, his eyes were soft as he worried his bottom lip. Working her angles as if he were a mistreated puppy. 

 

Her anger drained a miniscule fraction, at least he was trying.

 

She brushed past him, headed towards the samon latter. He watched her as she diligently and carfully pulled the athletic tape from her sore knuckles, then as she gripped the bottom rung of the latter. She tilted her head at him.

 

"Do you have a point, or?" Her voice traveled up at the end.

 

He opened his mouth and she stared at him expectantly but nothing came out. Rolling her eyes she looked up at her hanging hands and launched herself up the latter at an impressive speed, even for him. 

 

He watched her for a moment before he probably became self conscious and looked away. Sticking his hands in his pockets like a dejected teen. _Was he a teen?_ She couldn't remember likey because she didn't really want to do the math while all the blood was rushing to her arms. 

 

She focused on the workout for a few more moments before taking pity on him and dropping from the contraption. He was beginning to look like he was going to take his losses and make a run for it. Her chest heaved as she stared at him for a moment, then shaking her head. 

 

"So, you want to discuss my intentions or justify my actions? I'm guessing? I'm usually right." She spoke, sounding a bit to condescending and egotistical in her own ears. She internally cringed. 

 

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, still gnawing on his lip. She took his nervousness with annoyance, leaning against the metal table still breathing heavily. 

 

He took a breath and stares at the floor.

 

"Bruce, for the entirety of the time that I knew him, had living connection in his work. He saves lives and counts it as his love and dishing out justice to those who deserve it." His voice never left an upbeat, but melancholy tone. She stared at him impertanatly.

 

"When he took me in as his ward, he was stoic, not able to provide me with what I wanted, which was an emotional connection. But I gave him what he needed, a light. Humor, I was brighter and contrasting to his darkness."

 

"But he messed me up, I got fed up with being his sidekick and not his equal so I left. Than Jason died, the second robin, and he cracked because he needed someone to be there, be his light _you know?_ I wasn't it. He was losing himself, but then you came along." 

 

He stared at her for a moment, a long one, contemplating. 

 

"I came to visit Alfred, more like he demanded I came but, when I got here, he told me that Bruce made you a superhero. For some reason, I got angry. I was going to come down and question your intentions, but I came down and I don't know between you punching that bag and doing the impossible on that latter thingy...." He trailed off.

 

"Dick...." her voice was soft now, but then she realised she didn't have anything to say.

 

"Look," he cut her never ending trail with a stern consonant. "Be his light, Ok? Bruce is going to help you till he dies, just don't let him fall into himself ok?"

 

She nodded, smiling at him. She pursued her lips then stuck out her hand.

 

"Lets start over shall we? I believe our first introductions were very poorly managed and unrepresentative to our personalities. I'm Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena." He took it in his own.

 

"Richard Grayson, but most people call me Dick. Unless, you know, you want to kill me." She laughed and pulled him into a proper hug, which he visibly had no problems with.

 

"In our line of work, that's very often." He smiled, unlike in pictures taken by paparazzi, a _rea_ l smile.

 

"Also I'm really sorry about that first metting, I was having a bad day."

 

"I can't believe you called me a _whore."_

 

"I said I was sorry!"

 

"Your father would be ashamed, going around and objectifying woman."

 

"It was a perfectly reasonable assumption I'll have you know. He used to-"

 

"DON'T want to know about my brothers sex life, thank you very much."

 

"Sure you don't, dont you want all of my blackmail power?"

 

It only took a moment of contemplation before she grinned.


	14. A Fallen Monument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I reeaallly need an updating schedule.

The worst part about nightmares is waking up.

You can have a dream about death, pain, and suffering. You can have a dream about falling, your feet slipping out from under you and being pulled away from everything, everything important. You can have a dream about  loosing, a memory, a nightmare. The thing is? None of it matters until you wake up.

You don't feel pain in a dream, you don't feel the grief and the longing, the fear. It's all when you wake up, it hits you like a brick, all at once and heavy. Sometimes you can't even remember why it feels so  harrowing, and sometimes that's worse than knowing exactly why.

For the longest time, it felt like she was incapable of having an actual dream, after it happened. She'd been afraid to go to sleep, laying awake and staring at the ceiling and knowing that if she closed her eyes for too long she would catch a glimpse of shining metal and a hand coated in blood that wasn't hers.

No one ever dreamed of death, only lived it over and over. She was tired of living it, all she wanted was to live herself.

She panted and fell back onto the bed, not willing to close her eyes. This was routine, it wasn't like she couldn't handle a few sleepless nights. All she needed was copious amounts of coffee and something to do, she had the coffee and she was sure that she could scrounge something up, whether it was helping Alfred clean the house or solving a murder.

She turned her head to the clock on the dresser and blinked. _3:28 am._ Solving a murder it was then.

\---

The expertly named Batcave was a hard place to be productive. Sure, it had all the latest technology, a fully functional gym, CSI facility and a very large quantum computer that would have made Max Planck  have a nose bleed. This was all well and fine, but god was it cold, dark and dank. Sometimes the bats that were attached to the ceiling screeched loudly and distracted her from typing on said nose bleed inducing computer. It was better for wallowing in darkness and brooding like nothing else in the world mattered than actually solving a crime. At least that's what it felt like for her.

Thus, how she finally decided to do things the old fashioned way, out on the streets and manual labor.

As always, the Gotham streets at night were not a safe place to be, especially the narrows. Rooftops were better of course, but that didn't mean that she didn't see the group of men tittering outside a dead end alleyway or the smoking middle aged woman that glared at her from her fire escape as she had stopped to take in the view. Even at 4am, the city wasn't deserted and shady figures strolled the streets with their hands stuck in there pockets.

No one seemed to notice another costumed freak slip into a taped off apartment, no one needed to. This was just another part of living in Gotham, don't ask questions and don't look at what you don't want to see. It was apparent that she lived be different rules, the self destructive sacrifice for a cause that was conditional, trying to sleep one goddamn night all the way threw and trying not to die were a few worth mentioning.

The crime scene was still fresh, the blood soaked deep into the carpet with no amount of bleach making it go away, the smell of rot from a body resting for a couple of days. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air unpleasantly along the overbearing scent of decay. If she were any less stubborn, she would have turned tails and sprinted out of there like she was on fire, but not tonight, she had a job to do.

The apartment belonged to a man named Jeffery Fobb, his file was tucked neatly into the stack that Nico has thrown at them. Three days ago he was seen leaving his apartment looking frightened, when he came back home he never came out. They didn't find the body until someone started to complain about the smell.

It was peculiar to say the least. It would have been a normal homicide, but she had found his file in the midst of the rest, an eerie reminder that his past wasn't very clean and he had saw too much to be left as a  loose end by the court. His death was efficient, but horrifyingly gruesome. No sign of forced entry and no biological evidence other then the bruising handprint left on the victims neck. Death by blood loss and asphyxiation, which came first was unknown.

She glance around the apartment, the police had been semi thorough, but there was no doubt that the court had holds into the department that made any source from them unreliable in the area of evidence. Anything left would have been ignored by officers and detectives who knew how to shut up and look the other way. Anything else would have been collateral damage, like the body that had sat on the carpet. A scowl overtook her face, she now understood her brothers annoyance. 

She moved into the kitchen, looking threw drawers and cabinets as she went. As with the other rooms of the house making as little noise as possible. After 10 minuets and coming up with nothing she got somewhat perturbed, sitting on the bed in a moment lost in though. She heard the box springs creak under her weight, except one of them didn't collapse as much as the rest. She shot up to her feet, ducking down in a crouch on the floor.

Below the sheets and comforter there was a tiny hole in the mattress, one that she didn't hesitate to stick her hand into, grinning as she pulled out a normal plastic USB drive. She had a feeling that it had something to do with what she was looking for, murders and suspicious behavior didn't compute to having nothing to protect, whether information or life.

When she crawled out the fire escape and onto the roof no one noticed, no one wanted to.

\---

"Are you sleeping?" Bruce inquired across the breakfast table where he sat eating yogurt and a kale smoothie like it wasn't the most domestic and hyper-realistic action in the universe. It took a moment for her to process the question, but she snapped out of her daze as Alfred sat down a bowl of Oatmeal and toast in front of her. She smiled at him in thanks.

"I am sleeping, thanks for asking, sleeping like a bear in hibernation like I suppose you do with all your ninja training." He cocked his head at her, almost trying to decipher whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"So no, given that the logs on the computer last night clocked in from three to seven am, given that you turned in at two am I'm inclined to believe you did not sleep." He said it with a blank face, but the undertones of worry she was sure she could find somewhere in his being made her stomach turn.

"I slept enough, a few all-nighters are not going to kill me." He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm inclined to believe differently, sleep deprivation can be dangerous in a fight." _Well no shit._

"I'm inclined to believe that you have your own problems to work on that do not interfere with my sleep schedule. Such as what I found last night as I 'slept'." She picked up her mug of coffee and  unceremoniously chugged a large portion of it before standing up with a high pitch screech of the chair against the tile. The way he openly cringed at her uncaring, non-formal attitude almost made her smile, the man basically raised Dick, he should be able to handle her sleep deprivation just fine.

"You're incorrigible, I hope you know." He affronted and she grinned, buzzing already with the shot of caffeine.

"Finish your health monstrosity, we have work to do." She turned on her heel and left him spluttering, grumbling about a diet, which would probably make her whole day more enjoyable.

They ended up in the caves lab after that, Bruce deciding that despite him owning a multibillion dollar company, it wasn't as important as being a vigilante. She could have made a few choice words about that, but decided that it would be hypocritical since she was still on her self decided work from home vacation until the security breech within her company was resolved. For that to be resolved, she had to save herself from the court of owls.

In the Bat-Computer there was a stock pile of information about them, witness reports from nearly a hundred of sources that may mention the court, but none that actually tell the tale of who they are. It's always the glimpse of a black figure and then someone ending up dead and that figure never being identified or caught, then the case being buried so far into the systems ass that it would never see the light of day again.

It seemed that they had their hands everywhere, in everything. The police force, schools and education systems, government agencies and even inside some of the worlds most important companies and projects. It was how they got her fingerprint and how they accessed the data of some of the most important buildings, and they weren't just after her.

Maybe the new found USB would be the new lead in their case, what the man sacrificed his life to protect. She held it up to her face.

"What do you think it is?" She asked him, holding it out. He stared at it before grabbing and inserting it into the computer.

"Why don't we find out?"

The holographic screen showed four files, one word document, two videos and one photo.  They glanced at each other before he chose a video, the first file. It crackled to life.

It looked like it was shot with a poor cell phone camera, the dark grainy picture of chaos. It was nearly incomprehensible, and it took a moment to relies that the camera was so jittery because the person holding it was running. Their breath was short and labored, gasping and the imaged shook violently as it was pointed at the ground.

It continued until a wet squelch sounded out above the wind's roar and the phone dropped to the ground with a thud, the camera cracked. The knife sticking out of the recorders back was clearly disernable despite this. It was one that she had seen before, but none that you could get your hands on easily.  

The video ended and he clicked to the next one. It was nearly the same, a shitty camera, a scared guy but in this one he was muttering about how they were coming for him. With how the video ended, he was certainly correct. It was the same knife, but sticking out of the top of his forehead.

"I've tried tracing that knife before, it's a dead end." She glared at him from his peripheral. That was a horrible pun.

"This is an organization that has it's hands everywhere, in pretty sure they can make their own knives. The models are also slightly altered between the two, they wouldn't leave such a dead give away." Two could play at that game.

"The consequences of asking around about something everyone wants buried could have grave consequences."

"You never live unless you take risks."

They stared at each other for a moment until he broke the silence, clicking to the word document.

"Mine were better." She pouted, disgruntled.

"Lies."

The word document was a letter, the origins unknown and whether it was typed on word or copied from another source was unknown. The contents though, remained interesting.

"Computer translate language." Bruce grumbled, staring at the unknown circles and line.

 _"Language unknown."_ She stifled a giggle, causing him to stare at her imploringly.

"What?" This time there was no stifling.

"And I thought you were nerd growing up. Did you never watch Doctor Who? This is an intervention." His eyebrows shot up, the slient plea to reveal a secret.

"What's the language." He growled at her, using the Batman voice which honestly made her feel kind of special.

"I can translate, it's a fictional language, traditional Circular Gallifreyan." She grinned as he stared at her judgingly.

"Just do it." She just sighed in response, staring at the circles.

"For all who see this message, The Court Of Owls is real. They will come for you like they came for me, take these messages and make them seen. Remember the rhymes and watch the night. The Court is returning, and they want Gotham in their claws dug deeper, and they'll kill anyone who stands between them and their rule. They don't like the weak, but they hate the strong willed." Her voice trailed off. Bruce was staring at her intently.

"That was informative, we have our motive." He closed out of the document and opened the last thing a photo.

The photo was....creepy to say the least. It was a picture of a oval shaped table with a group seated around it. They wore clothing of high society, but with gaunt masks with beaks like owls. It didn't take long to recognize what it was.

"They run deep, the old Gotham families, people of power. The Court controls them all." He spoke calmly, but I could tell he was unnerved.

"What they were trying so desperately to stop is from someone making them public. Right now, people think that they are a bad nursery rhyme. They are vulnerable if everyone knows, they can't kill all of Gotham." He shook his head.

"I don't thinks it's that simple."

"The most complicated problems can sometimes have the simplest solutions." She retorted.

"This isn't the time for philosophy," He growled, perturbed. "There are legitimate concerns for those who spread the information, the ability of the Court to bury the information and the ability to trace the information back to our identities."

"That doesn't change the fact that this evidence is our only upper hand, and our chance to confront them, regardless of civilian identities  that they may or may not already know. We can find a trusted reporter to expose them without the backlash of disbelief online. We cannot give this information for the police to release because they have people that will destroy it. We can't go after them ourselves, not when we know too little about them and without enough forces. This is our only viable option, unless you have something better." His mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Well sit on it for now, wait and look for something to unravel them: Members, plans, evidence. It's unwise to go after them while we have so little, and if released to with what we have now it will be passed off as a conspiracy. Replicate these on multiple servers and make physical copies just in case. once we have more we can fight them." She nodded, conceding to his point.

They stared at each other for a moment before she turned to the computer and let her hands fly across the keyboard and backing up the files onto multiple 30 different secure servers, then standing up and passing him to grab USBs more secure than cheap dollar store bought ones.

He stared at her strangely a moment longer before turning slowly and calmly walking back upstairs, not making another sound, and not looking back to her. It took her a moment to realize that he might actually be more stubborn than her, and she let another stark laugh out of her chest. It felt good to let it out for once. She closed down the computer and leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes.

She was asleep before remembered she was supposed to be awake.


	15. A Talon's Claw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooo~ who is that person. I wonder....

A shadow slipped past him, a slight movement in his peripheral vision. He made no move to acknowledge it, falsely staring out into the city while studying how it moved out of the corner of his eye.  

It was small, small and slow movements. From where he was perched atop the gargoyle, he made no move to look further into it.

This had happened on previous night, nearly every night for a week. He had noticed the shadow  that lurked across rooftops last week, now he could feel eyes watching his every move. He had an inkling feeling of who, or what was there, but every time he noticeably acknowledged the unknown entity, it had disappeared without leaving a trace.

When looking for signs of human engagement, there is disarranged gravel on roof tops, witness of action, signs of entry and sound in general. He had a feeling that the shadow he noticed had been flowing him for longer than a week, and the skill shown was troubling. The appearance of a stalker, in use of a crude word, had to correlate to that of the current problem of the Court of Owls. Coincidences rarely happened, or at least not to him anyway.

He waited for a while, saw no movement from the area where the shadow had been. It could have been a optical mistake, but he knew better than to write off strange occurrences. He waited until he heard a scream, and then he launched himself off the gargoyle to glide down to an adjacent roof on the lift that his care provided.

It was a man and a woman, the woman terrified, the man boring over her with his hand over her mouth. It didn't take someone like his to asses the situation. The man was pined to the wall away from the woman before she could blink, and when she did, she stared for a moment. He turned his gaze to her and cocked his head in a silent question. _Are you ok?_ Her lip trembled before she turned tails and ran.

When he returned his glare to then man, who whimpered pitifully under his hold. He felt the man deserved to be punched, just a little.

He delivered the unconscious man  to the police station unapologetically.

 Doing that, however gratifying, did not solve the unknown entity that had been watching him. It is more plausible to assume the worst given the circumstances, but blindly putting to much faith into a single theory would not be reasonable. He would need to find the identity of the suspect to know whether or not they had affiliations with the Court of Owls.

He perched himself on the top of a high apartment complex near the Narrows, but closer to West Harlow. It was a troublesome spot that he had to frequent a lot. The gang activity in the area was rising steadily, he had heard of them having connections with the gangs placated at the harbor. It required further investigation, but he had different plans for tonight.

Being bait.

He listened to the silence end on the other side of the comms. "The suspect is on the end of the block," She spoke into his ear. "On the building on the end of Koida Street. He seems to be stationary, I suggest using thermalized ocular equipment, to avoid dislocating them."

"Only if I had thought of that, No Name." He snarked. She snorted in reply.

"That is not going to be my name," She mused. he lifted a cheek in a small smirk. "I was thinking Strix."

"I think it needs to be more obvious," He wiped the sweat the had collected atop his lip, mindlessly. "No one is going to understand what it means."

"Go," He could hear her eye roll. "Don't you have a stalker to catch?"

"Yes, and you have a better name to think of." He muted her, then turned on the switch for his heat vision goggles, which, lets be honest, was what they were. Thermalized ocular equipment was too much of a mouthful.

He disappeared into the shadows, climbing to the roof in seconds and jumping across rooftops like he was born for, and lets be honest one more time, he really was.

He was only a few blocks away from his target, and the mix matched buildings along near the narrows weren't that tall, so it was no attest to his skill that he was able to fade in the low lighting of the street lights that only worked occasionally. The building were the target was located was one of the tallest in the area, a excellent location for surveillance, at least for the target. When he finally came to a position, a couple buildings back from it, where he could view the heat signature of the target, his brows furrowed.

They were small. Very small.

He turned off the night vision, realizing that the lighting wasn't as bad as he previously theorized, and that he could see the target marginally well. Whatever he was expecting, an assassin from the court of owls, a criminal escaped from Arkham, and maybe even another hero looking for blackmail material. Whatever he was expecting, it was not a child.

But, a child hiding behind a boiler on a rooftop and gripping a camera to his chest as if it were a second heart.

This would require confrontation, regardless of the suspect. He had learned his lesson on underestimating children, or people who looked considerably weak.

He watched as the child closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the concrete wall of the roof. He wouldn't expect confrontation, but if he were as skilled as to evade recognition for and entire week, he may be prepare for such. He may have had the skills to evade him even with his equipment.

Acknowledging this fact, he moved silently to a position nearer to them. He waited for the young man to open his eyes as he crouched in front of him on the rooftop, not exactly intending to frighten him into running .

When the boy did finally open his blue eyes, he was able to place a name to the face immediately. Tim Drake, of Jack and Janet Drake. The question that clawed at his throat was why he was out here endangering himself, for what? Pictures?

The moment Tim opened his eyes, they widened considerably. An emotion passed over his face that was difficult to place, it wasn't fear, though. He looked like he was surprised, but not scared. Worried? Perhaps.

He shot up from the floor where he sat and plastered himself onto the concrete wall behind him trepidatiously. He decided that he would most likely need to speak then, because all the boy was doing was staring at him with something akin to shell shock.

"What's your name?" He attempted to tone down his growl, a least. Something in the boy must have snapped then, because all trepidation was vanished to the night. His face lit up it something more that excitement, joy.

"Hi! My name is Tim, Tim Drake." He got closer, enough to still leave a great deal of distance, but enough to show a great deal of familiarity with approaching dangerous vigilantes. The thought worried him. "And your Batman, of course you knew that. I just, wow, oh my god. I'm kind of freaking out internally  right now, I'm talking to Batman."

He cocked his head. He'd have to admit, the boy was adorable.

"You're like, so awesome. I'm pretty sure I'm having a panic attack right now, but down worry, it can wait. I'm talking to Batman, oh god. Do you even know how awesome you are? I do, I wrote a thirteen page paper on why your amazing, even if I got a C because miss Callahan said that the topic was on if there should be vigilante help in Gotham and not why your awesome, but I didn't really care." Tim, through the entire speech, didn't even take a breath. He didn't know if he was impressed of no.

"Why are you out here, Tim." He tried to keep malice out of his tone, but some must have slipped though the cracks because the boy flinched minutely.

"Well, Mr. Batman, that's a good question. Let's return to reasons why you're awesome. Would you like them in chronological or alphabetical order? I can do both, both takes longer-" He cut him off with a glare.

"Timothy, enough. Why are you out here." The boy bit his lip and rocked on his heels. Avoiding the white slits where his eyes would be.

He looked more nervous than he should, illegal activity? Implausible, he comes from a too rich family to resort to street crimes to have money. He didn't run away, his cloths are too clean, and his hair was freshly brushed. He been in some home in the last five hours, but it was 2am. The only thing that made sense would be him sneaking out to take pictures of him, due to the constant presence of him and the boys reaction to his presence. Fan to the extreme?

"I-I well, I guess you could say I'm a fan?" He looked closer to tears than before. "I just take pictures, I promise I never show them to anyone, not even my parents know. I hide them very well, I just, they're all I have. I mean, the pictures. Please don't take them."

He was taken aback by the response, the pure emotion in it. He needed to know more. Fear clawed at his throat for the thought of the boy climbing across rooftops at night, alone near the narrows.

"How long?" He found himself saying, "How long have you been taking them?"

Tim bit his lip, clenching his hands, unable to look at him.

"Four years, six months, 14 days." after a beat. "Approximately."

He lost his breath, for a moment. He couldn't seem to regain it. He couldn't seem to regain anything, in fact.  Especially the words that had just come out of the boys mouth.

"Batman?" Tim asked him, finally looking up. He didn't respond, he was to busy processing. How the he- "Oh god. Are you ok? Please don't be mad, this is my only hobby. I don't have any friends. Please don't take my pictures. What's happening? Did I break you? Oh my god, did I just break Batman? Holy crap."

Tim was closer, waving a hand in front of his eyes. How many times had he gotten hurt doing this? How many times had he been meters away from people wielding guns trying to take a picture of the action? How had he missed the kid from the next door stalking him for the last four years?

"Camera." He said holding out his hand. Tim jumped at his command, eyes going from the cowl to the gauntlet on his hand.

"I-. Please no." Tim stuttered out.

"Now."

Tim fumbled with the camera in his hands, pulling it away from his chest like it was physically painful. He swallowed and handed it over nonetheless.

"You have to develop them, I thought an electronic one was to risky and having one of those would require the right equipment to have a physical copy. Safer that way, you can destroy the negatives and leave no trace." He rung his hands as he inspected the film.

"You're a very photographer, Timothy." He remarked, twisting the camera in his hands. The boys eyes glistened like he had told him that he had won a trophy.

"I-I Thank you, Mr. Batman sir." He handed the camera back, and Tim was too surprised to voice his approval of the action.

Now, the hard part.

"What are the chances I can convince you to stop doing this? This hobby of yours, however special to you is too dangerous." He dropped down off the ledge and bent down to his level. "No photo is worth your life."

"What you do is dangerous to!" Tim argued, throwing his hands up in the air indignantly.

"What I do is different." Tim scoffed. "What I do is for the protection of others, the protection of Gotham. I risk my life for people, not pictures of people. The pieces of paper can't be more important than your life, Tim."

Tim stuck up his chin to him, even though he was crouched down to his level, he was taller. It didn't matter though, He felt Tim's steady, imperturbable gaze tower over him. The child wasn't going to be moved on the subject easily, but he couldn't back down.

"It's not the pieces of paper, Batman. It's what's on them that matters." Tim's lips came close to wobbling, but it stood still and strong.

He stared at the boy for a moment, coming to an impossible loss for words. It didn't matter though, Tim rambled on despite the tense silence.

"You and Robin..." Tim seemed to take a somber look as he spoke his name. "You help people...helped people...I admire that. I, you are my hero and I don't know what else to do other than capture that. It's all I have."

He closed his eyes, attempting to not think of Robin. That was a lost cause though, there was never a moment passed where he was not inside his mind. He didn't need another death on his conscious. The boy wasn't going to stop if he asked.

"Do your parent's know you're walking around Gotham at night? Near the narrows not less." He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Last I heard of them was in July, sending my a birthday post card from Turkey." The statement was packed with bitterness, but also a heart wrenching tone of resignation. "Guess they forget my birthday is in April."

He had to physically restrain himself from clenching his fists, it was harder than he was expecting.

"Mrs. Mac doesn't know either, but she leaves around eight every night. It's not hard to sneak out, Mr. Batman."

"I'm sorry, Timothy." Is all he can find himself saying. Said child just shrugs, like he missed his favorite TV show and not like he just told him how his parent neglected him severely.

"I'm sorry to, I've been stalking you for four years and never had your permission to take pictures. I've been a bit rude I suppose." He mumbles the last part into his hand, looking very ashamed of himself. Lord give him the strength to not adopt this child.

He reaches his hand out to Tim, and the boy looks momentarily surprised. After a moment of hesitation, he takes the cold gauntlet into his small, smooth hand.

He leads him to the edge of the roof where he sits them both on the ledge, Tim not scared at all of the notion of falling over the edge, knowing he would recuse him.

They are silent for what seemed like forever, Tim staring up at him like the world was going to explode. Like he couldn't mentally wrap his head around it. From the way he's looking at him, he knows the boy has a question on his tounge.

"Yes?"

"What happened? I mean, Robin....I know he died and then you got really bad, angry." Behind the cowl, he grimaces. "I mean, I got really scared. You looked like you wanted to kill everyone who dared to commit a crime. I thought you were going to cross the line, but then you changed, you got better. Why? It wasn't the only question I couldn't answer, and I needed to talk to you so I let myself be caught. I need to know."

He gaped for a moment. _Let himself be caught_ \- this child was going to be the death of him.

"You let yourself be caught." He let go of any hope of keeping the costumed persona, letting the disbelief slip through. Tim just scoffed.

"I followed you for four years and you didn't notice once, I know how to not get caught. Answer the question." He let a smirk fall onto his face.

"I found my sister, she made me reevaluate my self loathing priorities." Tim squinted, confused.

"But you don't have any siblings!" Tim whisper-yelled in disbelief. "I checked all of the profiles, FBI, Interpol, CIA. I checked tabloids, made a chart of news paper clippings! You don't have a sister, do you?"

Tim realized his mistake to late, and when he did, he smacked himself in the face and rubbed the bridge of his nose, making a low groaning noise. He almost felt sorry him, but that was over ruled by the fact that this boy knew who he was. There were more people in the world killed by falling coconuts last year then people that knew who he was, so to say, a small amount. Yet, this boy that he had met exactly once knew his identity behind the cape and cowl.

The fact was disconcerting, to say the least. Maybe even more than the fact that this child was running around the streets of Gotham at night with no training and no one knowing that would know he was gone till the next morning, if not later. That secret was a curse that people would kill for.

"So, you seem to be keeping more to yourself than you let on, Timothy." He growled out, than wincing at the boys miniscule flinch. That had come out rougher than he intended, which seemed to be happening a lot recently.

"I swear I've never told anyone." He gushed out, looking constipated. He slid off the ledge and onto the concrete, beginning the motions of pacing.

"I know."

"I mean, you guys are way too important! You help so many people, I couldn't do that. I couldn't." He was breathing heavily, looking like he was having that panic attack that he was holding off earlier.

"Tim, it's alright."

He was still panic stricken, but it didn't look any worse. He let himself carefully slid off the wall and approach the boy, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and ignoring the shudder and letting himself crouch in from of him.

"How long have you known?" He inquired softly. Tim trembled, obviously somewhere between frightened and trying to focus on something other than what he really wanted to be focusing on. He had worn the look himself at one point in the past.

"Sin-since I was nine." He stuttered, wrapping him arms around himself. "It's a long story."

"I have time." He gestured back to the ledge, prompting Tim to take a seat. He nodded, pulling himself back up onto the side of the building. "How did you find out."

"It was Dick-Nightwing, I mean." Tim silently chastised himself. "When I was three, my parents took me to the circus. They thought if they did something with me I might be more open to being more like a normal well behaved child."

Tim huffed.

"Dick Grayson was probably my first hero worship before he became a hero. He took a picture with me and then promised me that he would do a quadruple summersault, just for me. He never really got to that promise." He swallowed thickly. "When I was eight I had begun to follow you and Robin to take pictures, maybe once a month. I had found you fascinating, and people still debated on whether or not you were real. I knew you were, but I had to know for myself."

"It was a year later when I was watching the news, It was a feature of Batm-you and Robin. Robin did a quadruple summersault in jumping between buildings." He stared at him with something like resentment. His tone took a sharp tone. "I may be young, but I'm not stupid enough to believe that, in the limited amount of people that can do that move, more than one happened to live in Gotham and is under the age of 20."

In that moment, he wasn't ignorant enough to know that the situation could be solved with the words burning to be spoken in his head. Most things like _You are too young,_ but also that treacherous thought, _He's going to be smarter than me._ So instead-

"How would you like to take a ride in the Batmobile" He cursed himself silently. That would _not_ resolve the situation, he was weak.

Tim, well, Tim looked like his brain was way too overworked to even pick apart the question. That it simply couldn't process it. He was getting worried when his unblinking silence passed the minute mark .

"Are you going to erase my memory?" Was not was he was expecting to come out of the boys mouth. Though, in further reflection of the night, he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Would it change your decision in any slightest degree?" He asked, eyebrows raised behind the cowl. Tim shook his head.

"Nope, lets go. Ride. In the Batmobile. With Batman." Tim was still not blinking, he was definitely worried. Damn himself.

He gripped Tim around the chest with his left arm, aiming his grapple gun. Growling, "Hold on."

Tim, being the amazing person that he was, didn't scream. He never even closed his eyes. They just got wide, like a curious child. Which made sense, because he was.

He dropped them both down near the vehicle, activating it. It lit up, the motor humming to life. The sleek black doors opening upwards, something that the Tim seemed to particularly like.

"I feel like I should make the point that I'm getting into a cool car with a stranger, how is basically offering me candy, except the candy is just the car." Tim looked like he would never let the grin fall.

"You stalked me for four years, get in the car Tim." Tim saluted.

"Yes, Mr. Batman sir."

He raised his hand to turn on his com. "Strix, I'm bringing home a friend, ask Alfred to prepare a room."

Despite the fact that both people standing next to the car were people that, so far strived to see the things that lurked in the darkness. The missed the golden eyes watching them, knowing eyes. The also missed the blade that barely glinted in the low light of the shadows where they hid.

They both didn't miss the consequences of that mistake.  
  



End file.
